


Your Heart Inside My Chest

by AxolotlQueen



Series: Striker Eureka Cafe [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anxiety, Chronic Pain, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kid Chuck Hansen, Kid Mako Mori, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Physical Disability, Striker Eureka Cafe Verse, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:17:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 112,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxolotlQueen/pseuds/AxolotlQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to Some Things Just Make Sense!<br/>Everyone deals with the aftermath of Newt's decision (and other stuff too). Some better than others. There is coffee. There is angst. There are unexpected characters.<br/>And, of course, axolotls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Don't Get Waves of Missing You Anymore...

**Author's Note:**

> This will make very nearly no sense if you haven't read Some Things Just Make Sense. So go read that, please :)
> 
> The fic title is from I Know I Know I Know, by Tegan and Sara.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt makes shitty choices and then some less shitty choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from UNI by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> The Drake Equation is this formula that this dude - called Drake - came up with to calculate the probability of alien life existing. His conclusion was that it's fairly unlikely. It's pretty controversial. (I, personally, agree with Hermann's opinion. Duh. Of course aliens exist.)

May 15th to January 15th - Newton Geiszler

Newt spends May 15th and 16th doing laundry and packing. He plays music loudly and sings along enthusiastically as he folds a relentless quantity of skinny jeans. He realizes he has an absurd amount of clothes, most of which he never wears. Much of it he leaves behind. He mainly packs t-shirts and pants, almost forgets to pack underwear, and remembers the night before leaving that it won’t always be hot and he should probably bring more than just t-shirts. He’s going through his closet when he finds a dark blue knit sweater balled up on the floor. It’s shapeless, color faded, clearly years old, too big, probably bought second hand from Goodwill or some other second hand shop. For a brief second he wonders why the fuck he would buy this ugly sweater - and then he sees clearly Hermann tugging at the hem, hanging baggily over his skinny frame, telling him in offended terms that it’s _warm_ , Newton, and he doesn’t really think it’s that ugly, and he wishes Newt would stop judging his clothes, he doesn’t always like Newt’s clothes either and you don’t hear him going on about it-

Newt sits on the floor of his closet, gripping the fabric, soft and worn, in his hands. It smells faintly like cheap laundry detergent and coffee. Then he stands up decisively, smacks his head on a shelf, swears loudly, and then walks out into his kitchen, still holding the sweater. He grabs a certain mug off of a shelf, wraps it in the sweater, and then shoves the bundle into the deepest corner of his closet. He returns to packing. 

He’s too excited to sleep that night. It has nothing to do with how weird it feels to sleep without bony elbows and knees jabbing into him. 

 

May 17th, Tendo drives him to the airport and spends the whole drive calling him increasingly inventive names. They all essentially add up to, “You dumb fuck.” He hadn’t expected Tendo to be this angry - well, actually, he hadn’t thought at all about what Tendo’s reaction might be. He makes the mistake of mentioning this when Tendo starts to slow down in his cursing, about halfway to the airport, and Tendo shouts, “That’s because you don’t think! Ever! You dumb fucker!” and resumes abusing him. 

Newt tunes him out and stares at the landscape rushing by. Tendo really does drive at a terrifying pace, he thinks, then wonders who said that to him. He remembers, and curses silently. _Stop thinking about him_ , he tells himself furiously. 

He really wishes Tendo would lay off. He’s going to Germany, he wants to be excited, but Tendo is seriously bringing him down. This is why he was avoiding telling him. But Tendo has the uncanny ability to find anything out, so Newt probably would have been better off letting him know from the start. On the other hand, maybe it just would have meant three days of being shouted at, instead of only today.

They reach the airport at last, and Tendo, still muttering insults under his breath, helps him drag his luggage and guitar over to the luggage checking area. Tendo waits grumpily as Newt fiercely warns the airport people to be fucking careful with his guitar. When Newt is done shooting them dangerous looks, he rejoins Tendo.

“’Kay, well, guess this is good-bye.”

“Bye Newt. Have fun in Germany. I would say don’t do anything stupid, but you’ve already done pretty much the stupidest thing you could, so I don’t think there’s much point-“

“Oh come _on_ Tendo, let it _go_. I was just doing what I thought was best, okay, I’ve already explained myself to you! Can’t you be supportive?”

Tendo scowls furiously, and shakes his head. “I just think you’re making a really shitty decision-“

“Yeah, you’ve made that super fucking clear!” Newt snaps. Passersby look at them, and he glares at an old lady that is looking at him as disapprovingly as Tendo is.

Tendo throws his hands up in the air in frustration. Then, his expression changing, he leans in closer to Newt and says in a quiet, intense voice, “Look, the whole going to Germany thing and becoming a rock star, that’s fine, I have no problem with that. But breaking up with Hermann, I think it’s a mistake, Newt, and you’re gonna regret it-“ Newt tries to interrupt him, but Tendo talks over him. “-Yeah, I know I’ve said that already, so I’ll just say this - if you went to Striker Eureka right now, if you ran in there and fell at Hermann’s feet and told him that you’re an idiot and that you made a mistake and you love him and all that dumb rom com stuff - I think Hermann would still forgive you. He’d be pissed, but he’d forgive you. But I can’t say the same about three, four months from now! He won’t wait forever! I’d drive you back Newt, so just fucking do that!”

Newt stares back at Tendo, at his intent face, waiting for Newt to answer. He could do that, he knows he could. If he begs Hermann, he might be forgiven. This will just become a stupid blip in their relationship. 

He drops his gaze to the ground. “If I did that, I’d miss my flight,” he says flatly. 

He can hear Tendo sigh. 

“Good bye, Tendo.”

“Bye Newt. Have fun being a rock star. If you don’t call me, I’m gonna fly across the Atlantic and kick your ass.”

“I’ll call.” 

 

May 20th he goes with Erik and Lucia - their drummer, who also doubles as an elementary student teacher - to watch Erik’s friend’s band practice. The lead singer, Nik, is tall and has dark blue eyes and a crooked smile. He’s also really fucking good.

“Erik, you didn’t say they were _good_.”

“Oh. Well, they’re good.”

“Jesus, Erik, how are we supposed to follow this guy?”

“Um…”

They fall silent and all watch Nik sway on stage, gyrating against the microphone stand. He’s wearing a tank top, and his muscles move as he grips the microphone.

“I’m totally gonna fuck that guy,” Lucia mutters dreamily.

“Me too,” Newt agrees. 

“I already did,” Erik confesses.

The singer smirks at an imaginary crowd, whom Newt is assuming also wants to fuck him. 

 

Five days later Newt tries to go grocery shopping and gets hopelessly lost. He doesn’t mind at first - Berlin is a fascinating city, and he wanders around the maze of streets with wide eyes. He’s been here before, of course. His mother was living here when he was born, and his first few years of life were spent in this city as well as several childhood vacations, but that doesn’t translate to being familiar with the city. Still, every few blocks, he encounters a shop or monument that has a small, sunlit jolt of nostalgia to it, a certainty that he’s been there before. 

But it’s a crowded day, and he gets hot and sweaty from walking. Eventually he decides he's tired of roaming aimlessly. He stops at a Starbucks and orders an iced drink. It’s stupidly expensive, and as he sits and sips at it in the iced store, he thinks that it’s not even that good. Herm’s coffee is way better. He’ll have to tell him that-

It hits him solidly in the chest. He won’t tell Hermann that. He won’t tell him anything, because Hermann is halfway across the world and Newt dumped him. The images that Newt has been blocking out the last ten days comes crowding into his mind - primarily Hermann sitting on that bench, his face white and uncomprehending, the sound of him saying “What?” as if all the color had been leached from the world, and how Newt’s legs had shaken with the desire run away from the shock and dawning pain that he could see; and there’s also the contrast between that hurt face and how Hermann had looked when Newt had first arrived at the bench, so beautiful sitting there in the sun, posture as neat as always but with something in it that reminded Newt of a cat in a sunbeam, and Newt had felt like such shit knowing what he was about to say that he had nearly been unable to go up to him; and he remembers too the first time he saw Hermann there, back when he’d just been Gottlieb, and Newt hadn’t known how to make him smile yet, but Hermann had shivered in the autumn air and called him Newton and spoken in German and even back then Newt had liked the way he rolled the letter ‘r’ but now he might never hear that again and it’s all his fault - 

“Sir? Are you…okay?” 

Newt looks up with a start from staring into the cloudy depths of his drink. “What? Yeah,” he says blankly, and only when his voice comes out hoarse does he realize he’s crying. “Um, sorry, allergies,” he mumbles, swiping at his eyes. The barista looks politely unbelieving, but all she does is nod, hands him a napkin, and back off. Newt drags it across his face - it comes away drenched - and then slams the rest of his icy drink. The brain freeze kills all thought for a solid minute, and when it goes so do the images of Hermann.  
He vows to not do things that will make him think of Hermann anymore. It takes him another week or so to realize how impossible that is.

 

The next night they perform for the first time and Newt is certain it’s all worth it. The whole time he’s on stage, all he thinks of is the music, the crowd, the high. He rides the thrill of it all night, certain that this is what life is for. When Nik’s band gets off stage, Nik smiles at him once and Newt smirks back, knowing for certain what is coming next. They crowd into a stall in the bathroom and Newt blows him right there.

 

The day after that, he realizes that that’s the first time he’s kissed anyone other than Hermann since October. He feels like shit, but he tries to convince himself that it’s just due to the hangover. 

 

A week or so later, Nik pulls him aside and tries to let him down easy - he has a whole ‘not looking for a relationship right now’ speech prepared - and Newt can’t hold back a startled laugh. 

“Dude, me neither,” he assures the guy. “You’re just hot and I wanted to fuck you, that’s literally all.”

He thinks the singer is a little thrown off to realize that Newt isn’t madly in love with him. Like he would fall in love with a guy like that. He’s not that stupid. 

 

June 5th the Black Velvet Rabbits all get tattoos together. They’re roaming the city when they pass a tattoo parlor and Newt, slightly high, declares that they need to remember this band forever. He convinces all of them, even Marie, the keyboardist, who is Canadian and more reserved than the others, to get “The Black Velvet Rabbits” tattooed on a body part of their choosing. Newt has plans for his arms and chest, so he has the tattoo artist wrap it around his ankle. It looks fucking good. He barely feels the sting of the needle. But that might be due to the weed.

Erik gets it on his forearm, Lucia gets it on her back while Marie watches with huge eyes - _I knew it!_ Newt thinks, although he had known no such thing - and Marie gets it across her ribs. Newt is sure that’s supposed to be more painful than other locations, but Marie doesn’t even flinch. “Hardcore,” Lucia murmurs admiringly, and Marie smiles at her. Erik looks puzzled and Newt smirks knowingly. 

 

June 8th Tendo calls him and yells at him for not having called him once. Tendo doesn’t mention Hermann a single time, and Newt is both grateful and furious. He’s dying to know everything. He spends the whole call trying to figure out how to subtly ask what Hermann is doing, but can’t think of how to do it. Finally, toward the end of the call, he gives in and blurts out, “Would you tell me if Hermann was dating someone else?” 

Tendo pauses, then says cheerily, “Nope.” Then he hangs up.

Bastard. Smarmy bowtie-wearing bastard.

 

Newt spends all of June 9th in his tiny, shitty, hot-as-fuck apartment, lying sprawled on the floor and feeling like the worst person in the world. He wishes he could forget that it was Hermann’s birthday, but he simply can’t. It’s like every neuron in his brain is screaming that piece of information at him. Plus, he forgot to remove that from the calendar on his phone, so that’s another reminder. 

He keeps hearing Hermann saying, “ _Birthdays are perfectly arbitrary celebrations, Newton, and I simply don’t see the importance of it._ ” He had that way of saying things, so annoyingly superior and self-assured, as if there was no possibility of him being wrong and Newt was ridiculous to ever doubt him. How does a single person have that much certainty in themselves? Newt found it kind of annoying at the time, but now it just seems cute. Endearing. The way he said Newton like that…god, that was so fucking cute. It drives Newt mad to be called by his first name, but honestly, it wasn’t so bad from Hermann. He sorta liked it, just the tiniest bit, secretly, back in the corner of his head.

And then, try as he might to stop it, his mind insists on replaying the rest of that particular conversation, and every time he remembers what he said in response he curls up like a dead, miserable spider that also presumably totally treated his really smart and gorgeous boyfriend like shit. That spider is such a jerk. No wonder someone stepped on him. His ex-spider boyfriend was probably really pleased and went off and found a much nicer and better looking and probably taller spider that wouldn’t say shit like that and then fuck off to Germany and fail to keep his promises.

“ _I’m still totally gonna celebrate your birthday. I’m gonna celebrate it so hard. Birthday cake and streamers and all that shit. I would have a surprise party, but I don’t think you have enough friends._ ”

That’s what he said. That is what Newton Even-More-Of-A-Jerk-Than-A-Dead-Spider Geiszler said. He fucking said that, and is he keeping that promise? No, he’s lying around in Germany and thinking weird thoughts about spiders. 

God, he is the worst.

And which is worst, the thought that Hermann is spending his birthday all alone, probably working at Striker’s and then going back to his shitty apartment, not getting any presents or cake or streamers, maybe even forgetting about his birthday since apparently that’s the kind of person he is? Or is it worse if he has someone to spend it with, if there’s some tall asshole maybe taking him out to dinner and to the planetarium, Newt always _meant_ to take him to a planetarium, and kissing him and saying _Happy Birthday Herm_ in a voice that is probably really deep and sexy and not sorta shrill and weird? Is that worse? At least Hermann’s not alone like that-

Newt aggressively unrolls from his dead spider pose, jumps to his feet, and starts pacing the circumference of his apartment. _Of course that’s worse_! he thinks furiously. Hermann shouldn’t be kissing anyone other than Newt - but that’s so selfish to think, because it’s not like Newt has been totally chaste - but it’s not the same - but why not -

It’s really hot, and Newt collapses back to the floor, flinging all his limbs out and staring gloomily at the ceiling. _I’m a really terrible person and Hermann deserves someone way better than me_ , he thinks darkly. He pulls out his phone, staring at the notification on the screen informing him that _Herm’s birthday is today!!1! Dont forget u piece of shit!!_ He can’t bring himself to dismiss it. He contemplates sending Hermann a text or email saying _Happy Birthday_ or maybe _oh my god I love you so much I’m so sorry I suck so bad please forgive me fuck_ , and decides with a wrench that would be a bad idea. It’s not fair to Hermann, and besides, he really is having a lot of fun in Germany and probably will go back to thinking this was a good idea - was this a good idea? - once Hermann’s birthday is over.

And, “ _Birthdays are perfectly arbitrary celebrations, Newton_ …”

The whole cycle repeats itself, on and on throughout the hot day, and Newt thinks about how he never knew Hermann in the summer and does he like it better than winter? Shit, Hermann in a bathing suit, that would have been so great to see…

On and on until Newt falls asleep, well after midnight, curled up on the floor like a dead spider, tears drying on his face.

 

June 13th they go to a concert for one of Newt’s favorite bands. It’s brilliant. He returns to being convinced he did the right thing.

 

On June 20th, Erik says uncertainly, “Weren’t you guys kind of expecting that we’d have more fans by now? I mean, I was expecting that…it mostly seems like the fans are all for Nik’s band…”

“Dammit, Erik!” Marie shouts. They all flinch in surprise. Marie doesn’t shout much. She’s Canadian. “We’ve been purposely not talking about that, or did you not notice that?”

Erik clearly did not notice that. He looks at Newt nervously. Newt shakes his head. 

“I’m sure things will pick up,” Lucia says. “We just need time.”

Marie looks at her witheringly. Newt wonders if things are going badly there.

Going on stage is still a mad high, but Newt does have to purposely not notice how unenthusiastic the audience is. Or, well, unenthusiastic might not be the word - just not as enthusiastic as he would have hoped. Not rock star enthusiastic. 

They just need time. 

 

Three days later he meets…well, he forgets her name almost immediately. But she has big eyes and blonde hair and she makes it pretty clear she’d like to fuck him. It’s been nearly a year since he’s been with a girl. Nice to know it still works the same. 

But the next day, after she goes home, he feels like shit. It seems weirdly like cheating on Hermann, which is stupid because he broke up with Hermann, partially for this exact reason. It’s not cheating. It’s been a whole month, so why wouldn’t he fuck someone else? Hermann is also probably fucking other people; in fact, Newt hopes he’s found some girl - well, if it’s Hermann, some guy - with big eyes and blonde hair who is willing to put out-

His thoughts derail there. He imagines Hermann kissing someone else, and then his vision goes sort of white and splotchy and his hands clench into fists. No. No, no one else is allowed to kiss Hermann, only him, Hermann is _his_. And he doesn’t care how unreasonable and unfair that is, he doesn’t give a fuck, because Hermann is his and he shouldn’t kiss anyone else. 

His vision clears slowly, and he reminds himself that he should care how unreasonable that is. He should want Hermann to be happy - no, he decides abruptly, he shouldn’t want anything for Hermann, he shouldn’t even think about Hermann! Hermann isn’t his to worry about anymore. He’s supposed to be free from that shit. That was the whole point of that awful bench event thing that he’s trying to not think about (god Hermann looked so _betrayed_ -)

He firmly decides to not think about Hermann anymore. This lasts for about a week. 

 

A week later he sees a book in a store about stars and space and all that shit Hermann likes. Before he can stop himself he thinks of how much Hermann would like this book, how he would stand in the aisle of the book store, bent over it, leafing through the pages dreamily, and then he’d close the cover and pretend he didn’t want it. Hermann spends way too much time in book stores pretending he doesn’t want books. Then Newt thinks _DAMMIT_ loudly until the thoughts of Hermann go away. 

It hardly hurts though, this time, to think of Hermann, and Newt thinks hopefully that he’s getting over him. _That wasn’t so bad_ , he tells himself proudly. He resolves again to not think of Hermann. His resolution holds longer this time.

 

Then it’s July. He spends most of July performing and partying and successfully not thinking about Hermann. He doesn’t sleep around as much as he would have expected of himself. It’s fine when it’s happening, when he’s kissing whatever beautiful people he can get his hands on, when he’s touching and laughing and taking off clothes, it’s all great then, he loves kissing and sex, it’s not the anonymous sex that’s the problem. It’s afterwards, because after, just like with Nik and that blond girl, he feels vaguely guilty and wrong. He doesn’t let himself think of why he feels like that, but he does, so for the most part he doesn’t go beyond dancing and kissing. 

 

July 4th he and his bandmates - even Marie, who is Canadian - set up a picnic of American foods, dress up in red, white, and blue - Marie neglects blue - and go to a local park to eat and loudly be American. They all feel homesick by this point. Newt misses American food and American beer and American television. He misses speaking in English all day. He misses his apartment. He even kind of misses school. Being a rock star isn’t always that intellectually stimulating.

It doesn’t occur to him until the next day that in the midst of thinking of things he misses, he doesn’t think about Hermann. He feels proud of himself until he realizes that thinking of not missing Hermann has made him miss him. 

 

July 10th he discovers that Ecstasy is bad. 

 

July 18th his mom shows up out of nowhere. He’s not even entirely certain how she knows his Berlin address, because he’s sure he never told her it. But she behaves herself, so he doesn’t mind too much. She takes him out to dinner and makes him tell her all about what he’s been up to, and he appreciates that. Mostly for the food, but also for the attention.

Halfway through dinner she frowns and interrupts him to ask, “Whatever happened to that young man you were dating? The skinny boy, the one that spoke German?”

Newt frowns down at his half-empty plate. “We broke up,” he mutters. 

“Oh,” Monica murmurs. “I see. That’s a shame, I rather liked him.”

Newt jerks his head up. “What are you talking about?” he asks, annoyed. “You met him for like five seconds, and in that five seconds you insulted him and made it clear you disapproved of him - hell, you disapprove of everyone I like!”

“That’s not true,” she protests. “And I just want to make sure you find someone good enough for you.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“It’s important you find someone that can handle you, dear,” she continues. “Otherwise it will never work out!”

“Come on, Mom…”

“You’re like me-“

“I am _not_ -“

“And not everyone can handle individuals like us-“

“I’m not like you-“

“Look at your father and I, he couldn’t handle me, and that certainly didn’t work out-“

“That didn’t work out because you were both _married to other people_ and also because you’re _crazy_ -“

“I simply thought that boy seemed like someone that could handle you, but if that’s not the case then it’s good for you to find someone who can deal with you better-” 

“Hermann could deal with me just fine!” Newt snaps, then becomes aware of what he said and falls silent. Monica looks at him with far too much sympathy. “Maybe I don’t _want_ to be handled,” he mumbles angrily. 

His mother pats his hand, and doesn’t push the conversation any further. Newt tells himself that if Monica approves of Hermann then that is just further proof that ending things with him was a good idea. 

But it is undeniably true that in all of his relationships, things tended to go badly due to the other person finding Newt - what was the word Amy used? - overwhelming. And Hermann never seemed to find him overwhelming. Hermann could deal with him, and will he really be able to find someone else that can?

 _One_ , he tells himself, _course you will. You’re awesome. You’ll be fine. Two, I_ don’t _want to be handled. And three, I don’t really want relationship anyway._

 

Six days later Lucia is the one to bring up that The Black Velvet Rabbits are still not doing real great in terms of popularity. Marie shoots her a scathing glance and storms out of the room. Lucia runs after her.

“So…are they like…a couple?” Erik asks.

Newt looks at him disbelievingly. “You’re kind of a dumbass, Erik,” he remarks, and goes home. 

 

July 29th, he spends the day at the zoo with a hot artist he only met the day before. They make out in the reptile house until Newt notices the zookeepers feeding the boa constrictors and abandons his date for that. His date is gone by the time the feeding is over, but that’s okay because the boa feeder is also really hot and Newt ends up spending the rest of the day with her, talking eagerly about reptiles. He goes home with her. The sex is good, but when she invites him to stay over the night he declines. Sleeping in bed with other people really weirds him out these days. 

He tries to not be relieved that there are no axolotls at that zoo. 

 

August 4th, Newt is surprised to realize that it’s August. Whatever happened to July? His return ticket is for August 29th. It’s odd to think that he’ll be back in California in less than a month. He thinks about going home, returning to school and his apartment, and something occurs to him. As soon as it does, he can’t believe he’s taken this long to think of it. 

He’ll go home, he’ll resume life, everything normal, school, home, work, social life - except - no Hermann.

He’s astonished to discover that up until this point he’d never really realized that he ended things with Hermann. He knew it, he was aware of it, he thought he’d accepted it, he thought he was over it, but he never actually stopped to consider that he’d go home to a life without Hermann. He never _understood_ it before. 

Being here in Germany, that was one thing - of course Hermann wasn’t here. Even if he hadn’t broken up with Hermann, he wouldn’t be here. So of course the concept of normal life without Hermann hadn’t sunk in. But now, for the first time, he faces the idea of actually going about his daily life without Hermann waiting for him at the end of the day. No more texting him when he’s bored in class, no more terse responses telling him to pay attention to his teacher, no more popping into Striker Eureka, no more eating dinner together, no more falling asleep on Hermann’s bony shoulder, no more waking up next to him. 

Newt, lying in bed still, stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes, shocked at how fucking miserable that sounds. How did he do that before, how did he used to live without Hermann? It sounds so - so boring! And...lonely. 

Newt pushes his hands through his hair and fills the air with muttered curse words.

“Dumb fucker” is the one he repeats the most. 

So what the fuck is he supposed to do?

 

The next three days are filled with him anxiously thinking about this. Dread for returning to an empty apartment is interrupted only by increasingly unappreciated performances. If anything, they’ve gotten less popular. He still enjoys performing, but it’s kind of depressing when no one seems to be listening.

Should he just…try to win Hermann back? Walk into Striker’s, fall to his knees, and apologize, like Tendo suggested all those months ago?

There’s a few problems with that, he’s sure. For one thing, he kinda doubts Hermann will forgive him. Hermann is one to hold grudges, he knows that by now. For another thing…has anything really changed? The main reason he broke up with Hermann was that he didn’t want to settle down. Is that any different now?

That’s the question that keeps him uncertain for those three days. He’s still young, he’s still restless, he still doesn’t want to settle. He’s worrying over this when the question phrases itself in a different way in his mind. So he doesn’t want to settle…would it really be settling if it was Hermann?

If it was Hermann…it wouldn’t just be taking second best because it was there. Newt was sure you’d have to be an idiot to think that Hermann was second best in anything. Hermann was…fuck. Brilliant. Really hot. Never boring. 

And if it was Hermann, it wasn’t like they’d retire out to the countryside, have 2.5 kids, a dog, a cat, and never do anything again with their lives. Hermann would be just as unhappy with that as Newt. No, if it was Hermann, they’d go on adventures, they’d always get into crazy stuff, because Hermann is just as curious about the world as Newt. Maybe not in the same way, but he too would be bored with just sitting around. 

And…if it was Hermann…even that other stuff. Growing old together. Buying a house. Staying in one place once they got older. If it was Hermann, that stuff really wouldn’t be so bad. Waking up next to anyone else, as he's discovered, sucks, but it would be nice to wake up next to Hermann every day. He looks so cute when he sleeps. And home would really feel like home if he knew that Hermann would be there. He’d have a reason to look forward to going home at the end of the day if it meant seeing Hermann again. Newt really can’t think of anyone else he would rather do this stuff with; he can’t even imagine doing it with anyone other than Hermann.

So, no, he doesn’t want to settle down yet. But also, no, it wouldn’t be settling down if it was Hermann. It would just be…living. With someone that he loves.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks suddenly. _Oh fuck, I still love him so much. Fuck. How is that possible? Fuck. Fuck I miss him. FUCK._

So by August 8th, his mind is made up. He knows what he wants, and what he wants is Hermann. 

Now to figure out what to say to stop Hermann from trying to murder him. 

 

August 10th he wakes up from unsettling dreams that he can’t quite remember. Something about- as soon as he reaches for it, it slips away. But he knows the dreams were unpleasant. They follow him all day, hanging ominously about his shoulders. 

 

August 15th he tries calling Tendo, making sure to call him at a time that’s about midday for him. His friend sounds kind of odd when he answers the phone, weary and unhappy, but Newt doesn’t think anything of it. He means to broach it naturally, but it has been on his mind for days now, so he bursts out nearly immediately with a question about Hermann. 

“Tendo, do you think that Hermann-“

Tendo barely lets him even get the words out before he starts shouting. “You really are the most self-involved _ass_ , aren’t you!” Tendo roars into the phone. 

Newt jerks the phone away from his ear, shocked at this unexpected outburst. “What-“

“Do you know that at this very second-“ Tendo falls abruptly silent. 

“What?”

“Ugh, no, no, never mind. I just-“

“Tendo, what the-“

“I just can’t fucking deal with you right now, Newt,” Tendo snaps. “I’ll- I’ll talk to you later, okay. Bye.”

“Wait-“ Newt gasps, but Tendo has already hung up. “What the fuck?” Newt mutters, staring at the phone. “The hell was that?”

He tries calling Tendo back, but Tendo doesn’t answer. 

 

August 20th they do their last show. It goes well. Not awesome, but not badly either. Newt enjoys the high one last time. He’s not as sad as he would have expected to get off the stage. He thinks he’s ready to be done being a rock star - not forever, of course, but he’s good for now. Now, he wants to figure out how to get Hermann to love him again. 

 

August 22nd he gets his second tattoo.

 

August 29th he flies home. He’s crazy jet lagged for a few days. He uses the time to plot how to win Hermann back. 

 

September 1st he goes to Striker Eureka and…Hermann isn’t there. Not only is he not there, but there’s someone else working behind the counter, a tall, blonde teenager that is maybe the tiniest bit familiar. He stares at the kid through the glass with narrowed eyes, then, frowning darkly, walks away. 

He tries Hermann’s apartment next. If he’s not at work - but who the fuck was that kid? - then chances are he’s at home. Newt pushes the buzzer for Hermann’s apartment. There’s no response, so he tries pushing it again in the hope that Hermann didn’t hear. Maybe he’s sleeping? But it’s around eleven in the morning; Hermann would never still be asleep at this time. 

He looks thoughtfully up at Hermann’s window, and for a second he thinks he sees a flash of movement. He waits hopefully but it doesn’t reappear. He cranes his neck back, trying to get a better view. “Hermann?” he tries calling out, and then again, louder. There’s no response, but Newt feels increasingly sure that someone’s there. He pushes the buzzer again out of frustration, and keeps his eyes glued on the window, hoping desperately to see the familiar sight of Hermann sticking his head out of that window. 

Newt stands uncertainly in front of the door a few minutes longer, and then admits to himself that even if Hermann is home, he’s not letting Newt in. “Dammit,” he mutters to himself. He should have known it wouldn’t be this easy. Nothing is easy with Hermann. “I’m not giving up that easily,” he informs the door. “I’ll be back.” 

 

The next day he sees Tendo for the first time since he’s returned from Germany. They haven’t talked since that weird as fuck phone call. Newt thinks Tendo’s smile is a little forced.

“So…are you gonna explain what was up with that phone call?” Newt asks after the greetings are over.

“Um…no. No, I’m not,” Tendo says.

Newt stares at him. “You know that was really weird, right? I still don’t know why you yelled at me. If I did something wrong, you should tell me-“

“It’s not exactly that you did something wrong,” Tendo says hastily. “It’s just -“ he shakes his head. “I really can’t explain it. I’ll just say that I was upset that day, and I took it out on you. Don’t...um. It’s not…” he seems to be unable to find the proper words, which is extremely rare for Tendo. Eventually he shakes his head and gives up. “I am glad that you’re back, Newt,” he says instead. 

“Yeah, I’m glad to be back…” Newt responds, watching Tendo thoughtfully. He sucks on his lip a second, then hesitantly adds, “I tried to talk to Hermann the other day…”

Tendo lifts his eyebrows, but doesn’t say a word.

“Couldn’t find him,” Newt concludes. “Do you know if he’s avoiding me?”

Tendo shakes his head again. “Not saying a word about it,” he insists firmly. “I am Star Fleet. Prime Directive. No interference.”

“Oh, come on,” Newt begs, but Tendo is as unmovable as Star Fleet usually isn’t in TOS. Newt does his best to do the sparkly, dreamy Captain Kirk eyes, since that always seemed to work for him in revoking the Prime Directive, but Tendo refuses to say a word about Hermann. 

 

September 3, school starts again. Newt hopes to see Hermann on campus, but although he keeps his eyes open and walks near the buildings where the physics classes are held more than is strictly necessary, he doesn’t see even a trace of him. Once in a while he thinks he sees him in the distance or out of the corner of his eyes, but it always turns out to be someone else. He wonders irritably how many skinny white boys there can be at one school. A lot, it turns out. 

In the next few weeks, Newt makes sure to walk past Striker’s at least once a day, but Hermann is never working there - it’s always either Herc or that blonde boy. When it’s Herc, he makes sure to walk by quickly with his head down. It’s not that he’s scared of Herc - it’s just that Herc is tall and fit and ex-military and seems pretty fond of Hermann, and okay also he’s a little scared of Herc. He doesn’t dare to go into the store. He lives in fear of running into Chuck, because he’s pretty sure the kid would attempt to murder Newt on sight. Newt hurt Hermann. That’s bound to be utterly unacceptable from Chuck’s perspective. 

He also goes back to Hermann’s apartment a few times, but the visits are just as unsuccessful as all his other attempts. He texts Hermann, he even calls him twice despite Hermann’s disdain for phone calls, he emails him, he fucking mails him a letter, but nothing. Eventually he stops, because he’s afraid of seeming like a stalker. 

 

October 1st, he’s forced to admit that Hermann…Hermann doesn’t want to see him. He knows it’s what he deserves, he knows that he’s the one that ended things, but the knowledge still drives sharply into him, not so much a sliver as a fucking broadsword into his heart. Hermann doesn’t want to see him. Hermann is so angry or so upset or maybe just so _done_ with him that he won’t even talk. Newt finds himself resuming dead spider pose on his apartment floor. This time last year, he had just met Hermann. He wasn’t Hermann then, he was just Rude Coffee Guy. 

“This is so dumb,” Newt whispers into his knees. He’s curled up on the floor crying over Rude Coffee Guy. He remembers the way Hermann used to say, “Oh, it’s you,” every time he walked into the store, how he would try to sound so disdainful when he said it, but half the time he would be smiling, a tiny little smile that you could only see in the way the skin crinkled around his eyes. Newt sniffles. Fuck, he misses him so bad. 

“You fucked up,” he tells his knees. “You fucked up so bad, and you totally ruined one of the best things you had going on, and now you’ll never get to hear Herm say 'Oh, it’s you,' ever again. You fucking dumbass,” and the last part gets lost as more tears push their way free and he presses his face into his knees. “You dumb fucker.” 

 

October 15th he resolves that it’s time to start trying to get over Hermann. He’s now spent nearly as much time being broken up with Hermann as being with him. It’s silly to be this upset over him still, he tells himself. Admittedly, he only really accepted that it was completely over about half a month ago, but either way, things have been done for months. He thinks it’s kind of weird that he’s the one that ended it and yet he’s still this hung up over it. Hermann is probably over it by now. 

He still thinks it’s a little odd he hasn’t seen him around campus. And Tendo still refuses to talk about him at all. And seriously, who is that kid that’s working at Striker’s now? _The world may never know_ , he muses. 

 

November 12th he goes on a date with a girl named Mariposa, which he’s pretty sure means butterfly and is probably not her real name. She’s nice enough, and she has pretty hair and symmetrical breasts and a butterfly tattoo on her lower back, but she doesn’t like _Lord of the Rings_ , and she’s never even heard of the Drake Equation, let alone has a strong opinion of it. When Newt tries to explain it to her - not very well, he thinks later - she looks puzzled and tentatively offers that she doesn’t believe in aliens.

At the end of the date, Newt says “I had a nice time,” and nothing else. He doesn’t lean in to kiss her. She looks relieved.

“Doesn’t _believe_ in aliens,” he mutters scathingly as he walks back to his car. “Who the fuck doesn’t believe in aliens? How can you _not_ believe in aliens?”

He tries, really really hard, he really fucking tries to not think it but - _Hermann believes in aliens_. Hermann was personally outraged by the Drake formula and would passionately explain to anyone willing to listen why it was a load of bullshit. Newt had never even heard of it until Hermann, but he certainly found it interesting, and not just because he liked the way Hermann used pretentious metaphors when he tried to explain math. Although he did find that hilarious and adorable. _Dammit, stop thinking about him._

 

December 1st he starts getting his arms tattooed. He has a whole elaborate plan for them - it's gonna be fucking awesome. He actually attempted to draw the design himself, but he's sort of kind of totally awful at art. Marie, on the other hand, is not, so he described it to her one night in Germany and she drew it out for him. 

It's kaiju, of course. His very own kaiju, that he made up all on his own. Not just appearance, he actually spent a fair amount of time considering how the biology of it would work. This has been a project of his for years. He takes a certain amount of pleasure in thinking that Hermann would disapprove of it horribly. He never really understood Newt's fascination with kaiju, and he made it clear he didn't like tattoos. It's nice to remind himself that there are benefits in being single, like not having to worry what others will think of what you do. 

It turns out these big designs kind of hurt, so he only gets the outline of Yamarashi done for now. He'll do the colors later.

 

He spends Christmas with his dad and uncle this year. He always likes spending Christmas with them, and it’s certainly better than being stood up by his own mother, but he still feels kind of flat. He keeps catching himself staring sadly out of the window. It’s not snowing. He remembers Hermann telling him that it doesn’t count as a proper Christmas unless it snows, and laughing at how unreasonable that was. What about tropical places? Or the entirety of the Southern Hemisphere? Hermann shrugged and said firmly that it didn’t count. Newt kissed him to make him shut up. He’d been so surprised to discover that awkward, uptight Hermann, who blushed over saying “I like you,” was enthusiastic and skilled at kissing. And other things- He tries, but he can’t stop these memories of last year’s Christmas, which started out so miserably and ended so fantastically. No Christmas sex for him this year. 

He’s sure that his dad notices that something is off, but he’s heard of the Hermann situation by now and very nicely refrains from saying anything. Newt appreciates that. Monica would definitely say something. Monica would say way too many things. 

He tries not to worry about Hermann spending Christmas all alone again, but he can’t help himself. When he walked into Hermann’s apartment last year, it was so bare. Not even a hint of Christmas spirit. He asked Hermann about it, at some point that night, and Hermann had shrugged his bare shoulders - Newt had watched his bones move under the pale skin with fascination - and said that he didn’t see the point when it was just him. Is he doing that again this year? Is he sitting in his cold apartment, drinking too much tea, all alone? Is he thinking about Newt?

 

He goes home December 27th and digs out the mug from its closet exile. “You are not very good at this ‘getting over him’ thing,” he says sternly to the smiling axolol. The blue sweater still smells like coffee. Newt sighs and wraps it up again, this time shoving the bundle deep into the pile of discarded clothes and junk under his bed. He imagines taking all his stupid lingering feelings about Hermann and pushing them there along with the mug and sweater. “And stay there,” he tells it resolutely. 

 

Newton Geiszler’s New Year’s Resolutions: Stop thinking about a certain skinny physicist he can’t have. Start having sex with random people again. Get Tendo to tell him what the fuck he’s keeping secret. Stop looking around for a tiny, angry Australian boy every time he walks past the local elementary school. 

 

January 7th, school starts again. Newt’s proud of himself when he realizes that he longer looks for Hermann around random corners. 

 

On January 15th he at last bumps into Hermann - literally. He’s walking around campus, tired and daydreaming and not particularly paying attention to where he’s going, and he turns a corner a little too quickly and physically slams into another person.

Newt staggers back, the other person loses their balance and falls on their ass, Newt says “shit-”, the other man says “goddammit-“ and then “OW,” and something hard smacks Newt’s shins - not all in that order. 

“Oh shit, sorry, that was my bad,” Newt apologizes hastily, feeling even worse when he sees that the man on the ground is curling over one of his legs and hissing in pain, and that the thing that hit Newt was his cane - he thinks _oh good job, knocking over a cripple_ \- and then the man looks up at him with startled and angry brown eyes. And long beautiful eyelashes.

He would think that it was just some stranger that sorta looked like Hermann, but too thin, too pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, and an unfamiliar anger on his face, if it wasn’t that he also registers at the same moment that when the man swore earlier, it was in German. That’s too much of a coincidence to be possible.

“Hermann?” he says disbelievingly, frozen in the act of stooping to offer his hand.

Hermann glares at him furiously - and he’s seen Hermann angry before, but never quite like this, sharp and raw and miserable - and, ignoring the proffered hand, snatches up his cane - luckily in reach - and uses it to haul himself to his feet. It looks painful. He bites his lip, and Newt numbly wonders if he’s holding in exclamations of pain.

“What the-“

“Fuck off,” Hermann spits. He starts to walk away, and Newt feels sick with shock when he sees that Hermann’s actually limping, pretty heavily, obviously leaning on the cane just to walk.

“Hermann- _Wait_!” Newt cries out desperately through his shock. But Hermann doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t acknowledge him in any way other than the visible tightening of his shoulders. Newt stares after him, too astonished to even think of chasing him down. 

Hermann tells him later that if Newt had caught up to him then, he thinks he would have never forgiven him.


	2. ...It's More Like Tsunami Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann goes through a lot of shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from UNI by Ed Sheeran

May 15th to January 15th - Hermann Gottlieb

The 16th is worse than the 15th in a lot of ways. The 15th he’s mostly numb. He goes to work feeling blank and confused, mechanically doing his job. When he gets home he realizes he can’t remember most of that day. He has a hard time sleeping again that night.

The 16th the numbness is starting to fade and the exhaustion hits. He keeps spontaneously remembering that Newt has - that he was - that it’s over. At one point he catches himself standing in front of the cappuccino machine, not doing anything, just staring at it. He’s not sure how long it’s been, but when he turns around a customer is glaring at him. 

By noon he just wants to go home and sleep. The tiredness is making everything a thousand times harder, and he burns himself twice and spills a customer’s drink once. His white shirt is probably ruined, but he can’t bring himself to care about that.

The second time he burns himself, it’s around two or three in the afternoon, and Herc is out from his back office, working behind the counter with him. Hermann swallows a swear and uncomprehendingly looks at the red mark forming on his wrist, and the Australian comes and pulls him aside, thrusting his wrist under cold water. 

“Sorry,” Hermann mumbles, feeling even worse. He can’t even do something as simple as this.

“Are you alright?” Herc asks him softly. “You’ve been off all today and yesterday, you look exhausted…What’s wrong with you?”

He wants to lie and say that it’s a cold or that he couldn’t sleep or that it’s nothing, but Herc is bound to notice eventually; it’ll seem odd that Newt never comes around anymore. Why delay it?

He stares at the water splashing over his wrist. He can still feel it aching in the low, dull way of burns, even underneath the flow of frigid water. He hopes it doesn’t blister. “Newt broke up with me.”

His voice cracks despite his efforts to keep it even, and for a horrific second he thinks he’s going to cry. _Please please no do not cry don’t cry you stupid bastard do not cry in front of Herc do not cry please no_. He never cries. He is not a person who cries. He certainly will not cry in front of his boss. That’s not who he is, he is _not_ someone that cries. His breath steadies and the moment passes.

Herc is looking at him with the most awful sympathy. “Ah. That’s - I’m sorry to hear it…you alright?”

“Quite fine,” Hermann lies, and his voice stays calm this time. He thinks Herc knows he’s lying, but the man doesn’t say anything, just nods and tells him to put burn cream on that, and be more careful from now on.

The work day ends at last. He can’t remember walking home, but he’s at his apartment at last. He collapses face first on his pillow, far too exhausted to prepare or eat dinner. 

It hurts. It hurts inside him, it physically hurts, his heart and his lungs and his brain, they all ache. He didn’t know he could feel like this. It’s not like he’s never been hurt before, he should be good at dealing with pain, but this hurts so badly in such a new and unfamiliar way. He thought he’d been heartbroken before, and he’s been dumped before, and that hurt, but it wasn’t like this. He clutches at his pillow and breathes quickly around the pain, hoping it’ll pass. The feeling as if he is about to cry returns, and he squeezes his eyes shut until he sees fireworks. 

The pain doesn’t fade. But he’s too tired to stay up another night, and he falls asleep at last. 

 

May 17th is a tiny, fractional bit better. He didn’t sleep well the night before, but restless sleep is better than none, and he’s no longer insensible with exhaustion.

On the other hand, being more awake means his mind is clearer, and he can more clearly appreciate what happened, and how fucking much it hurts. He can’t look at it yet; the pain is too large to comprehend, like that initial moment after a burn when you know that you are hurt but don’t yet feel it. He knows this hurts. He’s not sure he’s felt it all yet.  
As if this isn’t bad enough, around ten in the morning, Tendo Choi walks in. Hermann stares at him disbelievingly. Tendo looks at him and frowns in a puzzled way.

He orders, and then asks, “Why are you here?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be, I dunno, tearfully bidding Newt farewell, sticking your tongue in his mouth one last time, that sorta thing?”

Hermann is rendered speechless, anger surging up his spine - is he fucking mocking him? What the fuck is his problem - he thought Tendo was actually kind of nice - what the hell - and then Hermann suddenly gets it.

“Newt didn’t tell you,” he says flatly, and turns away to make his drink. “That fucking _coward_.” He’s not aware he’s said the last part aloud until he turns back and sees Tendo looking at him in surprise, eyebrows shot up to his slicked back hair.

“Whoa, what? What didn’t he tell me?”

He has to say it again. He’d like to never repeat those words ever again, but he already has to say it again. Damn Newt. 

“He broke up with me.” It’s a little easier this time. His voice doesn’t crack, at least. 

“What?” Tendo gasps. “Wait, _what_? He did - why?”

Hermann hands him his finished drink. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he snaps, voice strained. 

“Ah, right, sorry,” Tendo apologizes, shaking his head. “I’ll wring it out of him. I can’t- shit.”

Hermann doesn’t have anything to say to this. He stands lamely behind the counter and wishes Tendo would leave.

Tendo starts to turn away, then turns back to Hermann. “Hey, can we still be friends?” he asks earnestly.

It’s such an unexpectedly childish and sincere thing to say that Hermann is taken aback. “Excuse me?”

Tendo puts his drink down on the counter and looks Hermann frankly in the eyes. “Well, you know, we kinda bonded, we watched Star Wars together and I’m kinda fond of you now. We’re bros. And I don’t wanna stop that just because Newt is a dumbass. So can we still be friends?”

Hermann finds himself mumbling, “Um, sure.” He doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Great,” Tendo beams, and picks his drink up again. “Okay, I have to go kick Newt’s ass. See ya.” And he bustles out of the store again. 

“That was…weird.”

 

On May 23rd, Chuck asks him shyly why Newt hasn’t been around. Hermann has to say it again. He’s half expecting Chuck to be pleased - Hermann still isn’t sure he believes in Newt’s ridiculous theory that Chuck has a crush on him, but it’s certain that Chuck did not like Newt - but Chuck gets a sort of heartbroken look on his face and actually hugs Hermann. 

Chuck is a good fucking kid. 

 

The rest of May passes in a dull blur of days spent working at Striker. The ache in his chest diminishes to a manageable level of pain. He’s able to start sleeping a little more regularly, but still not as well as he used to. He finds that he really does not like sleeping alone. His bed is tiny, but it still feels far too big with just him in it. 

Every time he thinks of Newt his mind flinches away as quickly as the body pulls away from an accidentally touched heat source. He’s okay with that; he doesn’t want to think of Newt. It hurts. He’s still afraid to examine the full extent of the pain. 

He thinks he’s becoming one of those crotchety old people that glare at happy couples on the street. Sometimes it feels like the couples that come into Striker, giggling and holding hands, are purposely taunting him. It’s hard to look at Herc and Mr. Pentecost together, even though they still aren’t admitting that there’s anything going on there. It’s the way that Herc looks at Mr. Pentecost. He can’t bear it. 

Tendo keeps visiting him and chatting about the most random shit. He tries to convince Hermann to come out with him, but Hermann politely turns him down each time. Probably Tendo will lose interest in being ‘friends’ with him soon. He won’t mind that much, although he supposes he doesn’t mind talking to Tendo that much.

 

June 9th he’s furious all day long. He wakes up knowing it’s his birthday. He hasn’t done that since he was fourteen. He’d stopped expecting anything by that age, and in the years after that, he often didn’t remember it was his birthday until the evening. The last two years he didn’t realize until a few days later, and that’s how he liked it. You can’t be lonely on your birthday if you don’t know that it’s your birthday. But this year he can’t forget, and it’s all Newt’s fault. 

“ _I’m still totally gonna celebrate your birthday. I’m gonna celebrate it so hard. Birthday cake and streamers and all that shit._ ”

Yeah fucking right. 

He stomps around all day, lonely and seething with rage at Newt. His only solace is that no one else seems to know it’s his birthday. He supposes there’s no way that anyone here could, as he has never told anyone, and no one in his family ever remembers anyone else’s birthday, but somehow Newt’s words from all those months ago have him on edge about it. 

On the other hand, he remembers something that he had forgotten this past year, and that’s how much better anger is than sadness. Being angry is always better than being sad. He internally rages at Newt and his fucking broken promises, and it’s such a relief from the sadness that had been dogging his steps. He imagines Newt cheerfully enjoying himself in Germany and the cold anger propels him through the long, lonely day. 

Summer birthdays, he thinks, as he has thought before, are shit, because summer days are so goddamn long. 

 

Three days later his older sister calls him. It’s been months since they’ve spoken. Karla’s the only family member he can really stand, but they tend to get into periodic shouting matches and then ignore each other for long periods of time. He’d been meaning ever since their last fight, sometime in the fall, to call and apologize, but he never got around to it. He’d been distracted by Newt. 

Now he’s glad that he never called her. It means she doesn’t know about Newt, and he doesn’t have to talk about that. 

She’s calling to wish him a belated birthday. “I was really going to remember this year,” she says sadly. “I hate forgetting that stuff. It always makes me worry I’m going to turn into Doctor Lars Gottlieb.” Karla always calls him that. Hermann has complicated feelings towards their father - Karla outright hates him.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Hermann tells her. “You’re completely different from him.”

He can tell she’s smiling by the tone in her voice. “I can’t tell if you mean that in a nice way or not, Hermann. Anyway, happy birthday. Three days late.”

“Three days isn’t so bad. Not for us, at least.”

“Did you have a nice day?”

He shrugs, remembers she can’t see him, and says flatly, “It was fine.”

“…are you okay, Hermann?”

“What? Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know…you sound kinda…down.”

He scowls at the phone. How can she tell? “I’m fine.”

“…sure,” she says, clearly not believing him.

“ _What._ ”

“You always sound like that when you’re upset.”

“I do no-“

“I know you better than that, Hermann. What happened?”

“Karla, I’m _fine_.”

“Hermann-“ she starts, her voice taking on a familiar I’m-your-big-sister-and-I-know-better tone. He hates when she does that. She’s only a year older; it’s ridiculous for her to act as if she’s so much more mature than him.

“It’s nothing,” he insists. “I’m fine. Just leave it, okay?”

“Okay, but if there’s something to leave that means there’s something wrong-“

“For fuck’s sake, Karla-“

“Okay, okay, fine.”

He’s starting to sigh with relief, when she hastily adds, “But you do know that if something is wrong you can tell me, right?”

“Karla-“

“I know we fight a lot and don’t talk that often, but…” she sighs. “Well, I don’t talk to Doctor Lars Gottlieb, I don’t talk to Dick,” - Karla also does not get along with their oldest sibling, Dietrich - “I hardly ever talk to Bastien…You’re the only one I can tolerate, Hermann. So don’t go all freezing me out too, please.”

He’s silent for a long moment. “…You’re also the only one I can tolerate,” he admits. He reflects that ‘tolerate’ is probably as close as anyone in their family is capable of getting to sincerely admitting to having ‘love’ for a family member.

“Aw, Hermann, I can’t believe you admitted that - you’re getting soft,” she teases.

“Never mind, maybe I won’t talk to you-“

“Okay, I’m teasing, I’m sorry, I have to tease you, it’s required of me as a big sister.”

“I don’t tease Bastien-“

“That’s cause you don’t talk to him-“

“That’s-“

“Besides, Bastien’s no fun. He just gets sorta confused looking. It’s kinda pitiful. You get all offended and proper and uptight, it’s much more fun.”

“…he does get sort of sad, doesn’t he.”

“I don’t understand where Bastien came from. He’s not a dick like Dick or Doctor Lars Gottlieb, he’s not all crazy like us-“

“I object to that.”

“He’s just sort of…nice. I mean, what the fuck is that? Gottlieb’s aren’t _nice_. Gottlieb’s are mean and hateful and don’t like anyone.”

“Must be a genetic mutation.”

“Oh my god, you’re horrible. Clearly _you_ are a Gottlieb.”

“…I’d rather not be.”

“…Me too,” Karla admits softly. 

 

June 20th Herc and Pentecost finally admit they’re dating. Chuck and Mako smirk for an entire week. Hermann tries to smile but can’t quite summon it up.

 

On June 29th Chuck falls out of a tree and dislocates his shoulder. Mako looks far too guilty for Hermann to believe Chuck’s claims that it was entirely accidental. He’s impressed with the kid when Herc grills him for an hour after returning from the hospital and Chuck refuses to crack. 

 

The next day Pentecost merely looks at the two children and they both simultaneously confess to rough housing in the tree. They are both forbidden from climbing trees. 

 

The day after Hermann reflects that the tree incident is the most interesting thing to have happened to him that entire month. 

 

July 4th, Hermann runs the shop alone as the small family unit formed by the Hansens, Mako, and Pentecost, drive an hour away to spend the Fourth at the beach. Considering that Chuck is the only American citizen - Herc is still in the application process - amongst the four of them, Hermann thinks it’s more of an excuse to celebrate than any expression of patriotic feeling. 

A bearded, slightly intoxicated man starts shouting “USA! USA!” when he hears Hermann’s accent. Hermann considers that he could sabotage his drink and Herc would never know, but he decides it’s too hot for that much effort. 

 

July 11th, his apartment’s air conditioning breaks. It’s too hot to sleep. He tries to summon thoughts of winter to cool himself, but all his winter memories contain Newt, so that just makes it worse. He restlessly stands up and dresses, slipping out of his apartment into the night. It’s just as hot outside, but at least there’s a breeze.

He walks for an hour in the darkness, focusing on the motion to drive out unwanted thoughts and anxieties. After about twenty minutes, he finds a park he didn’t know was there. It’s mostly just a wooded area, unlit by street lamps, with a small park area. He wonders if the Hansens know this is here. He wanders the woods for a bit, then sits on a park bench in a small glade somewhere in the heart of the tiny forest. Mosquitoes buzz around his face, and he can see fireflies flare and darken in the grass. 

He tilts his head back, looking up at the sky. He can’t see many stars here - too much light pollution - but there are some. There’s Ursa Major - that one’s always easy to find. And there’s Orion’s Belt, the three stars twinkling calmly in the distance. He remembers summers spent in his grandparent’s house in the English countryside. The sky seemed huge there, and achingly full of stars. His grandfather was the one that first taught him these constellations. They would climb onto the roof of the house and lie flat on the tiles, still warm from the day, gazing up at the stars. He can remember still how much he loved those nights, how beautiful and mysterious those distant lights had seemed. When he had gone home, whenever he was lonely or sad, when he couldn’t sleep, he would look out his window and try to pick out the North Star, and stare at the twinkling lights until he could fall asleep. 

Hermann breathes in the warm night air, grateful for the calm creeping over him. He slips off the table and walks home, finally feeling sleepy by the time he reaches his apartment. He sleeps on his couch with the window open because it’s too hot in his room and wakes up the next day with his neck aching. 

 

July is restless and hot. It takes a week for his air conditioning to be fixed, and in that time period he walks to that park every single night. Even after the summer heat stops keeping him awake, he often finds himself walking there. He’s haunted by a low, jittery energy, even on days when he’s tired from work, and the walking helps work that off. The park is his consistent destination due to how quiet and abandoned it is at night. Possibly it’s illegal to be there in the dark, but Hermann pretends to have not entertained this possibility. He thinks he’ll fall apart if he can’t have this one thing. The feeling of being alone there, not a single human around, is comforting, at times.

Other times, he feels as if he is going mad with loneliness. He can’t remember what he did last summer other than work, and yet he’s sure that there wasn’t this loneliness, hanging over him as heavily as the humidity. It doesn’t make sense, because he was just as alone last summer as this one - maybe more so, because Mako and Stacker are often at the café these days, and he didn’t even know Tendo back then - and yet it didn’t bother him last summer. He didn’t know that he was alone then. He didn’t know what it was like to not be alone. 

 

July 23rd it hurts again. He doesn’t understand it. It doesn’t hurt all the time - in fact, the days that he’s not chased by the pain are starting to outnumber the days that he is - but on certain days, with no explanation, he is struck all over again by the absence.

What is Newt doing? Does he miss Hermann? Is he happy? 

_Of course he’s happy_ , Hermann thinks savagely, drizzling chocolate over a drink. Of course Newt is happy. Newt is always happy, he’s the sort of person that manages to be okay no matter what situation he’s in. He probably never thinks of Hermann. He’s surely having a grand time in Germany, performing with his fucking band, probably having loads of sex.

When he thinks of Newt - Newt in the sunlight, Newt jittering with every motion, Newt’s eyes lighting up with new ideas, Newt shouting simply because he seems unable to speak at normal noise levels, Newt smiling and laughing. Newt saying “ _super fucking cute_ ” and Newt holding his hand and sneaking kisses and Newt in an aquarium saying “ _I love you_.” Newt standing before him and saying good-bye on a spring day. Newt with other people, kissing other people, fucking _other people_. Newt smiling at people that Hermann has never even met, making them laugh, making them feel bright and lit up inside, more brilliant and interesting and funny just from his presence, from his smile, better because he is there, better because if he thinks they are worth smiling at then they really must be worthwhile after all-

It hurts. It hurts, but on days like this, he can’t stop thinking about it. 

 

August 1st he has the day off. He hates having the day off. Far too much space to think. 

 

August 9th he lies awake for several hours, staring at his ceiling in frustration. Is this insomnia? Does he count as having insomnia? Perhaps he should google it. 

The stick-on stars on his ceiling glow dimly. He should really take those down. Normally he sleeps face down, so he keeps forgetting that they’re there. Newt put them up, of course. Sometime in early March, Hermann thinks (it was March 14th, he knows that for certain, and he hates himself for knowing that). He came to Hermann’s one day, holding a plastic bag and smirking, and, without saying a word, locked himself in Hermann’s bedroom for two hours. Hermann stood outside the door for a while, demanding to know what he was doing, but Newt refused to respond other than giggling and making occasional thumping noises. Eventually Hermann lost interest and retreated to the living room to study. 

Newt emerged at last, looking ridiculously proud of himself and grabbed Hermann by the hand, dragging him into the bedroom. Hermann hadn’t been able to see the difference until Newt flicked off the light and pointed up at the ceiling. 

“I tried to make it accurate, but it was way too hard, so I just stuck ‘em up there,” Newt said proudly.

Hermann had laughed quietly at him. “I’m not five, you know.”

“Yeah, but you dig stars and shit.”

“Yes, Newton, ‘stars and _shit_ ’, that is what I like.”

“Shut up. Anyway, I figured now you’ll have a reason to sleep on your back like a normal person.”

“Oh god, is this still about me sleeping face down?”

“You’re going to suffocate, Herm! I’m going to wake up one day and you’ll have suffocated. I’ll be in bed with your dead corpse. And then I’ll be traumatized forever, do you want that? Do you want to traumatize me?”

Hermann sighs and turns to his side, blocking out the sight of the false stars. Newt was so stupid. And how did he even reach the ceiling, as tiny as he is? He sighs again, with that feeling of stubborn anger that is never far these days. He misses being called Herm. He can’t believe he misses that. He’s always hated that stupid nickname, always, so why does he miss Newt calling him that?

He falls asleep eventually.

 

Only to wake up again, two thirty in the morning, wide awake for no apparent reason, with no sign he’ll be able to fall back asleep. He glares murderously at the three stars in the far corner of the room - he’s always wondered if that was a remnant of Newt’s original attempts to be astronomically accurate, perhaps a failed Orion - and sits up. He’s dressed and wearing shoes five minutes later, and grabbing his keys, cell phone and wallet, leaves his apartment.

It gets darker close to the park, and the sidewalk peters out, so he’s walking on the very shoulder of the road, right up against the curb. The headlights of a car come up behind him-

He’s walking and-

 

There are dreams, but they feel so real. He doesn’t know that they are dreams. They don’t feel like dreams. He’s standing in front of a window. He knows he’s in San Francisco, and he doesn’t bother to ask how he knows that, or why he’s here. He does. He is. 

He looks out the window and sees the monster. A kaiju, that’s the word, he knows that from Newt. It’s the size of a skyscraper, rampaging through the city, crushing buildings underfoot. Hermann can hear the sound of sirens in the city streets, piercingly clear. If he knew this was a dream, he wouldn’t feel scared, but he doesn’t know that, and he’s terrified. Then the building collapses. 

He lies crushed in darkness and smothering dust for what feels like an eternity - is surely several days - listening to the sound of the monster moving through the city. The vast blackness flickers around him. The footsteps reverberate through his bones, and it aches. He’s petrified, and everything hurts, and he wants to scream, but the destroyed building presses down on him so that he can hardly breathe, let alone make a sound. He’s so hot. His right hip is on fire. Even trying to move sends lightning jags of pain through him; he thinks with the parts of brain that are still semi-functioning that a piece of wall must be crushing his lower half. Surely that’s the only thing that explains the pain. He thinks the world is ending.

 

August 12th - he finds out the date later - the smothering blackness of the collapsed building slowly fades away, leaving his head aching and the room spinning. It takes him several minutes to realize that his eyes are open and that he is staring at the ceiling, high above him, right where it should be. Someone is saying his name. 

His father is sitting next to him. That can’t be right. He ought to be in Germany. Why is everyone in Germany? He’s spinning too. Hermann wishes that would stop. He feels sick. He’s…where is he? He can hear a repetitive beeping. It’s a familiar sound, but he can’t place it. There are shadows on the edge of the room. They flicker and loom and whirl.

His father says his name again, sternly. He was the one saying Hermann’s name. Why is he here? Hermann blinks and tries to remember how to talk. The best he can come up with is, in a creaky thread of a voice that doesn’t sound like his own, “Why-“

“German,” his father says reprovingly, as he spins in perihelia.

Was he talking in English? It’s hard to differentiate when he’s this…what’s wrong with him? There must be something wrong with him. He feels, with a sudden dim surge of terror, that something is terribly wrong with him.

He’s so familiar with both languages that his mind presents him with meaning over dialect. Hermann gropes dully through his mind, feeling as if it has broken into a multiplicity of pieces and those have scattered over the room. He can’t find the German word for “why” but he finds “what” and settles for that. He can’t find any other words, but his father decides that he can work with that. 

“You were struck by a car,” Lars Gottlieb informs him, his voice as distant and disapproving as ever. “The injuries were severe. You’ve been unconscious several days.” 

Hermann’s mind accepts this with barely a jolt of surprise. Would that have been before or after the monsters? Or…the monsters were probably not real. Right. Car crash makes much more sense than kaiju.

Surprise might be in one of the parts of his mind that is still out of reach. Perhaps he will feel it later. A car crash surely isn't so bad...but there's that sensation that something is terribly wrong. Why does his hip feel like that? He would nod, but his head is aching horribly, and he’s afraid of adding shaking onto the angular momentum of the room - the hospital room. That’s the beeping sound. 

That’s strange, that there is a beeping sound. He must be alive then. He doesn’t feel alive.

Some of his language capacities are returning as his mind begins, fractionally, to clear. He finds himself wishing it would not clear. It makes the spinning slow, which is a positive, but the more it clears, the more he becomes aware of the various parts of his body that are aching. His right side…he decides to not think about that yet. He focuses instead on the question he originally wanted to ask.

“Why are you here?”

Oh. That was terribly blunt. He can hardly turn his head to look at his father, but he can see the way the lines on his face tighten a fraction more. Hermann fights back a wave of nausea and shuts his eyes to try and at least close out the spinning. Unfortunately, he can still feel it in his bones. His ears. 

“You were hurt badly. The hospital felt it best to contact me,” Lars says, nothing in his voice showing what he thinks of that decision.

Fuck his head hurts so badly. He shuts his eyes and wishes his father would go away. He wishes all this would go away. Maybe this is all a terrible dream. His brain is still filled up with a dense fog that makes it nearly impossible to find the pieces of his mind, but when it lifts for a moment, a sensation of pain washes in that lets Hermann begin to suspect just how badly he might be hurt. He starts counting prime numbers until the pain recedes to a slightly bearable more level.

He opens his eyes again, and his father is gone. Oh good, maybe that was a hallucination, he thinks dizzily. No, but then he remembers hearing Lars say, somewhere between 23 and 29, that he was going to fetch a doctor. The spinning of the room has settled to a low lazy spiral. He leans to the side and retches, but it must have been days now since he’s eaten, and nothing comes up. The motion makes him aware of a sharp ache in his ribs. He wonders if they’re broken. He wonders if he’s broken. 

He slips back into the darkness before he can find out an answer. The kaiju are still waiting for him there. 

 

The next time he wakes up - is it later that same day? - it’s dark, a faint line of light spilling underneath a door that is in the wrong place and through windows that shouldn’t be there at all. Fog fills up his body, curling underneath his bones, and he can’t feel a damn thing. 

He wants Newt to be there. He wants to stretch out an arm and feel that small, warm body curled up next to him, but he can tell the bed is empty. The bed must be empty because it’s cold, and it’s never cold when Newt is there. Newt is like a tiny little sun and his nuclear fusion warms the bed and lights up any room he is in, and Hermann is the moon that can only palely reflect the light. 

Newt is in Germany and Hermann isn’t supposed to want him. 

The room is empty and cold and Hermann is afraid of what will happen when the fog is peeled away from his frontal cortex. He remembers vague snatches - a car accident. His father. Which is worse of the two of those? Maybe that was all a dream but - there’s that beeping. He knows that beeping. He doesn’t want to know that beeping.  
He wants Newt to be there. 

Gravity increases in the room, surely far above the usual Earthly force (negative nine point eight, his mind chants) and he allows it to drag down his eyes and pull him back into the darkness. 

There are nightmares there, white lights that destroy cities and trap you alone in the darkness and people that burn through the rain and cannot see you and monsters that leave you standing alone waiting for them, but the cotton slides around his eyes and keeps the dreams at a distance.

He wants Newt to be there. 

 

The next time he wakes up, he’s still in the hospital, his father is there, the fog has receded, and everything hurts. It wasn’t all a dream. And Newt still isn’t there. 

He’s able to stay awake long enough for a doctor to talk to him this time, and they tell him the full extent of his injuries. A car hit him, at a not inconsiderable rate of speed. The doctor tells him with a professional smile that he’s lucky to not be hurt worse. He finds himself, later, questioning her definition of "worse."

The injuries are minor, for the most part - broken ribs, some small internal bleeding, a sprained wrist, a variety of scrapes and bruises, a concussion - all of which only sounds minor to Hermann after they tell him the rest of it. He broke his pelvis bone, but the break itself was not so severe. No, it’s not the broken pelvis that’s the true problem; it’s what occurred as a result of that injury. 

His father stands next to his bed as the doctor, a pretty young woman with curly black hair, explains it all to him. Hermann wishes he wasn’t there, but he’s far too exhausted to summon up the strength to ask him to leave. Standing up to Lars requires a lot more energy and emotion than he can find right now. And Hermann supposes that this at least means he won’t have to explain it to him later. 

He can tell the doctor is watching him carefully as she explains, monitoring his reaction, perhaps expecting hysteria. She doesn’t need to worry - Hermann still hasn’t found the part of his brain that feels surprise. Her words sit on the surface of his mind, and he looks at them, knowing he ought to be upset, knowing that he probably is upset, somewhere inside him, but simply unable to feel it. 

_Nerve damage. Oh_ , is what he keeps thinking. _Oh. Permanent. Oh._

Lars Gottlieb also shows no apparent emotional reaction. That’s fairly normal for him, though. 

After the doctor goes away, Hermann lies in the uncomfortable hospital bed, aching all over, staring at the ceiling and trying to comprehend what she said. Instead, he falls asleep again. He’s just so fucking tired. 

 

When he wakes up again, later that day, Herc is there instead of his father.

“Good to see you awake,” Herc says. “Was wondering how long you could sleep.” Hermann thinks that’s an attempt at a joke. His mind is still having trouble following conversations. That would probably be the concussion.

He feels like he ought to apologize for missing work, but when he tries, Herc shakes his head and mutters, “Jesus fucking Christ,” pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t worry about that, Gottlieb, really, s’ridiculous. I’m not gonna hold _that_ against you, I swear to God.”

“Um. Oh.”

Herc sighs, rubs his face, then drops his hands into his lap. “Am I really that strict of a boss?” he mutters.

“Oh, n-“

“You don’t need to answer that,” Herc says hastily, holding up one hand to cut him off. “Listen,” he starts a moment later, “would it be alright if I brought Chuck to visit you? He’s…real worried about you.”

Hermann remembers abruptly that Chuck’s mother died in a car accident. “God.” Poor fucking kid. “Yes, that would be fine…oh. Oh, fuck. Isn’t tomorrow his birthday? Oh no-“

“I don’t think he’ll hold missing it against you,” Herc assures him. “Honestly, the kid’d forgive you anything right now. He’s just glad you’re-“ Herc cuts himself off here, but Hermann thinks he knows what Herc was going to say. Alive. Hermann is lucky to be alive.

The door opens at that moment, his father walking in. Lars stops in front of the door, eyeing Herc up coldly. Hermann shrivels up on the inside. Oh god, how horrible to Herc has his father been? Judging from the dangerous smile forming on Herc’s face, fairly horrible.

“Well, I’d better get going,” Herc says, his voice cheerful but with an edge to it. “I’ll come by soon with Chuck.” He stands and nods at Lars. “Nice to see you again,” he says, his Australian accent suddenly thickening, something aggressive in his face and posture despite the friendliness in his words. Lars nods back expressionlessly. Hermann decides all over again that he likes Herc.

Lars waits for Herc to exit the room - not that it would matter if Herc heard, as he speaks in German, but Lars is always, of course, flawlessly polite - before saying, disapproval etched in every line of his body, “That man is your employer?”

A wave of exhaustion sweeps over Hermann. He doesn’t want to do this. “Yes,” he responds tonelessly. 

“A café, Hermann, really? What are you doing working at a place like that?”

What’s wrong with a fucking café? Striker is perfectly respectable - and even though it’s still quite new, it really does pretty well for itself - why does he always, always have to be like this?

All he says is, “Herc - Mr. Hansen - was willing to hire me, and it pays well enough…”

“I would have expected-“ there’s that word again, expected, “-you to be employed by one of the professors of your school,” Lars tells him, his disdain on the last word making it clear what he thinks of Hermann’s school. Which is so unfair, it’s a bloody good school, just because it wasn’t the one he would have chosen-

There’s reasons why he doesn’t have one of those jobs. The school prefers to employ students with Work Study, which Hermann isn’t able to receive. The school can only hire so many students. There are _reasons_. But Lars hates excuses. So Hermann only says, “I was unable to receive one of those jobs.” And Lars looks at him like that, like that time when he was ten years old again and knocked over a lamp and it shattered on the floor. He cut his hand badly that time, trying to pick up the pieces. Lars didn’t even notice the blood. 

The morphine makes him see shadows moving around the edge of the room, shaped like monumental beasts. He focuses on those as Lars sits by his bedside, disapproving of him. 

 

Every time he falls asleep - which is a lot - he’s so fucking tired all the time - every time he falls asleep, there are kaiju again, moving ominously on the horizon. And it would just be a stupid dream, a strange, silly thing summoned up by his brain, if it wasn’t for how unbearably terrified he felt when he saw the creatures. He wakes up from the nightmares and for an instant he hates Newt with his entire soul, because he wouldn’t even have those damn things on his mind if it wasn’t for him. Then the exhaustion comes back, and the hate gutters out. He doesn’t have the energy to hate Newt. He hardly has the space in his mind to think of Newt these past few days.

He thinks the dreams are due to the morphine. He hopes it’s due to the morphine. 

He really wants off the morphine, because the hallucinations and dreams are wearing on him, and he hates having his head be constantly clouded, and it makes him feel constantly nauseous. The doctors try to put him back on solid food, but he can’t keep anything down. Vomiting makes his ribs ache, and there’s something absolutely undignified about being sick into a fucking basin.

They have one of those machines in his room where you can hit a button as soon as you feel pain to dose yourself, but he goes as long as possible between pushing it, waiting until he can no longer breathe from the pain. He’s fighting constantly to find a balance between the unpleasant effects of the morphine and the pain.

The pain is bad. The pain is really bad. The pain is- Maybe if it was just his head, his ribs, his wrist, the fifty billion cuts and bruises and scrapes, maybe then he could bear it, but -

When he catches himself nearly whimpering over the pain in his right leg, he pushes the damn button again. Nausea is better than that. 

 

August 14th, at around ten, the police come to take his statement. They haven’t caught the woman that hit him. That’s she’s a woman is all they know. Apparently, she hit him, drove away, and then called the police from a phone at a gas station. He wants to hate her, but he still can’t summon up the energy. At least she did call. One of the nurses said he would probably have died, from shock at the very least, if he hadn’t been found so quickly. 

He isn’t able to tell the police much. Or anything, really. He can’t remember the accident at all. The last thing in his memory is walking along the street. His doctor assures him that’s fairly normal in cases of head injuries, nothing to worry about. It’s probably good that he can’t remember, but he wishes he could. He wants to know what happened. How did this happen to him?

After the police officer leaves, his father, frowning slightly, asks him why he was out that late at night anyway.

Hermann’s breathe tangles in his chest. There’s something in the way Lars said those words that makes anxiety creep all over his skin. “I- I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk-“

“At two in the morning?” Lars asks, his eyebrows going up in polite disbelief. 

“I-“ he’s finding it hard to speak again. How does he explain this? Why does he even fucking need to? “I just needed some air. So, I…went to a nearby park-“

“For God’s sake, Hermann, wandering around in the middle of the night? It must have been pitch black, no wonder that woman hit you. How could you be so reckless?” He shakes his head. 

Hermann stares at him. How can he - it’s not - reckless? As if it’s his - The shadows on the edge of the room are growing, creeping in toward him and his father. Lars has such contempt on his face as to burn into his bruised insides. “It’s not-“ he starts, his voice a whisper. And then there comes a knocking at the door, followed immediately by someone opening it.

“Excuse me, hope I’m not interrupting,” a familiar voice says. Lars and Hermann both look at the door with similarly startled expressions. 

“Karla?” Lars says in German. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

The woman in the doorway smiles, a polite, sharp-edged smile. “Well you see, Dr. Gottlieb,” she responds in English, and Hermann has never loved her more than the moment Lars stiffens in response to that name, “I heard that my younger brother here was hospitalized. I thought it would be fitting to visit. Would you perhaps be willing to give us some alone time?”

Lars scowls - Karla is the only one of his children that’s ever been able to elicit this much of an emotional reaction from him - but after a moment’s hesitation, he stands, saying “Of course.” He turns to Hermann. “I believe I’ll return to my hotel. I have some work to do.” 

Karla’s fake smile falls off of his face the instant he leaves. “Ick,” she mutters, reaching one hand up to pull her dark hair out of its neat bun. “What a fucking psychopath he is.”

“Karla- What?”

She crosses the room, dropping ungracefully into the chair abandoned by Lars. “Heard you were hurt. Figured I should visit.” She attempts to smile at him, but her face crumples and she says softly, “Oh, Hermann, I’m so sorry.”

And that’s it, that’s really fucking _it_ , that’s the moment everything drops in on him. A car fucking hit him and now he’s hospitalized and has broken bones and _permanent fucking nerve damage_ , and he has found his surprise, and he understands the words. They slam into him full force. _Permanent nerve damage_. At best he’ll have a limp. At best. _Permanent_.

He puts his hands over his face, the sprained wrist protesting, and lies there shaking, unable to say a word, unable to catch his breath. Karla puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezing wordlessly. He remembers, for some reason, being a child, and he used to get the most awful nightmares - night terrors - and he was afraid of disappointing his father, so he didn’t tell anyone. He tried to keep it secret, but Karla’s room was next to his, and she could hear him wake up screaming. She would come into his bedroom on those nights, and climb into bed next to him, without saying a word. He was nine, she was ten. It was the only thing that helped, back then, but it’s not enough now.

_Permanent nerve damage._

_“For god’s sake Hermann-“_

“It’s not my fault,” he finds himself whispering, the words spilling out through he numb lips. “It’s not-“

“Of course not!” Karla gasps, her hand gripping harder. “A car hit you! If anyone - if that bastard says it is - god, he’s crazy, Hermann, you know that!”

He tries to take a deep breathe, but it’s still hard to do. It catches in his throat and shatters into tiny, aching gasps that hurt his ribs. 

“It’s _not_ your fault, Hermann,” Karla says sternly. He forces himself to nod. 

It takes a few more minutes for the shaking to stop, and the two stay silent. He pulls his hands away from his face at last, dragging them across his cheeks. If he wipes away a tear or two, Karla doesn’t say a word about it. 

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

“A car hit me,” he says. It’s the first time he’s said it. He’s voice only shakes a little bit. “And I’ll probably have a…” this is harder. He inhales. It’s just a limp. He’ll be able to walk. Just a limp. “…a limp. And- that’s, that’s it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Karla nods. “Okay,” she says simply. 

“…Karla,” he starts, after a moment of silence, striving for some level of normality. He’s relieved to hear that his voice isn't shaking. “Not to be rude, but how are you here?”

“Oh. Yeah,” she settles back into the chair, crossing her legs thoughtfully. “S’kinda weird, actually…Dietrich called and told me what happened, told me where you were, and, ah, well, I couldn’t really afford to fly out, so he even bought me a ticket.”

“Really?” Hermann asks disbelievingly. “ _Dietrich_?” 

“Right?” Karla agrees. “Guess there is something human, hiding deep in that shriveled thing he calls a heart. I’m gonna have to stop calling him Dick.”

“I can’t believe it,” Hermann mumbles. “What’ll Dad think?”

“Well, he did ask me to not mention his assistance to Doctor Gottlieb, so I guess he hasn’t entirely changed…but he said that he thought you could probably use some family other than _him_ around. Which is also kinda shocking, Dietrich acknowledging that _he_ can ever be less than perfect.” She sighs a little, shaking her head. “I think he was actually worried about you,” she adds, then straightens up, frowns stiffly, and, lowering her voice and switching to German, says, “Tell Herm to, er, feel better. And all that.”

Hermann doesn’t quite smile, but his mouth twitches. “You’ve always been so good at imitating him.”

“Remember how mad it used to drive him?” she giggles, reverting to English.

Hermann nods. Karla could drive anyone mad.

Someone knocks at the door. “Wow, Hermann, two visitors in one day?” Karla murmurs, getting up to open the door. “Oh my god, it’s a _boy_!” she calls out loudly.

She’s so fucking embarrassing. 

“Is this Hermann Gottlieb’s room?” he hears someone ask confusedly. It sounds peculiarly like Tendo Choi.

“It is,” Karla responds, stepping away from the door. “I’m his sister, Karla. And you are?” she asks, managing to make the question sound insinuating. 

“I’m a friend of his, name of Tendo Choi,” comes the response, equally flirtatious. 

The hell is Tendo doing here?

“Aw, Hermann, you have friends,” Karla croons as Tendo comes in. 

He’s smiling, but the expression falters and then freezes when he sees Hermann. Hermann feels his stomach turn. So he really does look that bad then. He resists the urge to scratch at the scabs up the side of his face. They aren’t supposed to leave any mark after they heal. 

Tendo is the sort of person that continues to smile in the face of situations like this, so he says, in a clearly forcedly cheerful voice, “Hey there. You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Hermann says drily. 

“Sorry to drop in so suddenly…but um, stopped by Striker earlier yesterday, and Herc remembered I was your friend, so he, um, told me what happened. Figured I should visit.”

Hermann nods. “Oh. Um. Thanks…” He’s not sure thanks are the proper sentiment to express here, but Tendo seems to understand what he means. 

Tendo’s smile slips all the way. “Um…Hermann…” he says, slowly, and Hermann can feel himself tense. Something in Tendo’s tone makes it clear that Hermann isn’t going to like what Tendo says next. “…should I…should I call Newt? Tell him what happened?”

A spasm of pain runs through him. He closes his eyes, but he can’t help thinking how nice it would be to have Newt be here, just to hold his hand, smile at him, tell him it’s all going to be okay, kiss his scrapes and bruises…he wants that so badly, but he reminds himself angrily that it wouldn’t be like that if Newt were here. Newt isn’t his anymore. He wouldn’t kiss Hermann, and every instant he looked at Newt he would remember being left, and the fury over the way Newt abandoned him still aches in his heart and mixes strangely with everything else he’s feeling right now. And what if - he can’t even bear to think it.

“No, I…I w-would prefer you didn’t.”

He wonders what Tendo’s expression looks like. He should open his eyes. “Are you sure? I think Newt would-“

Hermann doesn’t want to hear the end of that statement. He shakes his head once, sharply, and his concussion abruptly reasserts its presence. He has the sickening sensation that he can feel his brain sloshing around in his head. “I, I just can’t deal with him, on top of e-everything else.” He wishes his voice would stop sounding like that. Tendo doesn’t say anything in response, and Hermann forces himself to open his eyes. “Tendo, please don’t call him,” he says, hating how weak and miserable his voice sounds.

Tendo, face tight, hesitates, then jerks his head in a nod.

There’s a long, fraught silence, interrupted by Karla saying, “Okay, I’m gonna die if I don’t ask who this Newt person is.”

Hermann sighs and rubs at his face with his un-sprained hand. The scrapes on his face really do itch. “Newt is…um, my…” He really doesn’t want to talk about this. “Ex-boyfriend.” The term sounds so…tawdry.

"Oh,” Karla says, obviously thrown. “I didn’t…”

Tendo looks between the two of them, inhales sharply, and puts one hand over his mouth. “Oh my god, please don’t tell me I just accidentally outed you,” he says, horrified.

“Oh-“

“I can’t believe you, Hermann,” Karla snaps, face expressionless. “You’re gay? I’m disgusted. I-“ she tosses her dark hair. “I can’t call you my brother anymore.” She spins on her heel and strides to the door.

“Oh, oh no,” Tendo whispers. “Oh my god, Hermann, I am _so_ sorry-“

“Karla, for fuck’s sake, get back here,” Hermann snaps. 

His sister, hand on the door knob, turns around, grinning. “I couldn’t resist,” she laughs. 

“Wha…what?” Tendo gapes. Hermann doesn’t necessarily approve of Karla’s fucking around, but it is rather nice to see Tendo speechless for once.

“I’m only teasing,” she assures Tendo. 

He uncertainly drops his hand. “I didn’t know that Gottlieb’s had a sense of humor,” he says darkly.

“I’m the only one,” Karla smirks. “But yeah, I’ve known for ages, ever since he was fourteen and I caught him jerking off to Star Trek.”

“ _Karla_ -“ Hermann hisses, appalled. That had been one of the most humiliating moments of his whole life, and certainly not one he wants shared with anyone - let alone fucking Tendo. He can feel himself going instantly red. Fuck, it must be months since he’s blushed. 

Tendo lets out a startled laugh. “Star Trek, I _see_.” He casts a critical glance at Hermann. “Spock?” he guesses.

“Captain Kirk,” she answers smugly. Tendo laughs again.

“Kar _la_ ,” he pleads, covering his face with his hand. “Please shut up.” 

“Come on, Hermann, I’m your big sister, it’s my job to humiliate you in front of your friends.”

“Yes, but I’m hospitalized, could you please take it easy on me?”

The air goes oddly still. Hermann slides his hand off his face, startled, looking over at his sister. The smile has slipped off her face and she is staring at the ground. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Um, sorry.”

“Karla-“

She looks up again, a smile back on her face, but Hermann knows her well enough to instantly recognize how false this one is. “I’ll give you some time with your friend, shall I?” she says brightly.

“You don’t have to,” Tendo starts to politely protest, but she waves him off. 

“Nah, I want to go get a drink anyway. I’ll be back in ten,” she insists, and leaves before Hermann can ask her what’s wrong, leaving him alone with Tendo.

“She was interesting,” Tendo remarks, looking at the closed door. “Not what I would have expected of your sister…if I’d known you had one.” He glances back at Hermann and winks. “Kinda cute. She looks like you as a girl…but cute.”

Hermann looks at him and narrows his eyes. “I don’t know how, but if you fuck my sister I will find a way to kill you.”

Tendo laughs softly. “I promise I’m not that much of a scumbag.” His face grows serious again. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Newt? Or call him yourself?”

“…I’m sure.”

Tendo sighs and shoves his hands in his pocket. 

“Tendo-“

“Okay, okay, I won’t.”

The silence is thick after that. Hermann feels exhausted. It’s only around two, but he’s as tired as if he’d been up for days. He knows his body needs time to heal and all that, but god, how he can he be this tired just from lying in bed? He finds himself wishing Tendo would leave. 

“How long till you’re out of here?” Tendo asks.

Fuck. Hermann hasn’t even really thought of that yet. “Ah…I’m not…really sure. Probably…another week or so…”

“Shit,” Tendo mutters. “You really had a number done on you, huh.”

Hermann scowls. “Yes.”

“That sucks, man,” he says sympathetically. 

Hermann nods and once again remembers his head injury. It’s worse this time. He winces, closing his eyes against the pain. When he opens them again, Tendo is looking at him with a sharp compassion that cuts right through him, so that he can hardly stand to look the other man in the face. He hates that. He hates pity. 

“You look exhausted,” Tendo says. “I’ll stop bugging you, leave you alone with your sister…I’ll come see you again, okay?”

“You don’t need to do that-“ Hermann starts.

“And miss out on the chance to flirt with cute doctors and nurses? No way,” Tendo grins. “Anyway, see you later, Hermann. Feel better and all that Hallmark shit.” 

“Good bye, Tendo.”

Tendo waves goodbye, and then he too is gone. Hermann’s glad to be alone, although he finds himself wondering where his sister has gotten off too. He hopes she hasn’t gotten lost in the hospital. It wouldn’t be unlike her. 

He falls asleep again before she comes back. 

 

Herc brings Chuck to see him the next day. The kid starts crying the instant he lays eyes on Hermann.

“I’m sorry about missing your birthday, Chuck,” Hermann says contritely, feeling awful about that.

Chuck shakes his head violently and grips Hermann’s hand. “I’m just glad you’re alive,” he sobs.

“I am alive,” Hermann assures him.

Chuck looks up at him with tear filled blue eyes. “I was really scared,” he whispers. “D-don’t go away, okay?”

Hermann swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises huskily, reaching out to tousle the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry about me, Chuck, I’ll be fine.”

“...I love you, Hermann,” Chuck mumbles quietly. 

Hermann tries to smile for him. He can’t quite make it, but Chuck seems to understand. “I’m rather fond of you too, Chuck.”

After Herc takes a still sniffling Chuck home, Karla pats him on the hand and says, “That was literally the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t make f-“

“No, Hermann, really, I’m glad that you’ve found…people here. You know? Nice people. You’ve got friends and a nice boss and an adorable brother stand-in…I’m glad.”

Hermann can’t speak for several moments.

 

The doctors try transferring him temporarily to a chair later that day - it’s part of the recovery process, apparently. It’s nice to finally be out of the bed, but on the other hand the process hurts so badly that he nearly throws up.

 

Karla is only able to stay for four days, and then she has to go back to England. Hermann says good-bye with a feeling of dread.

He was expecting, before, when Tendo promised to visit him, to merely tolerate those visits, but after Karla leaves, Tendo’s visits become one of the only things that make this situation bearable. He thinks Tendo knows that, too, which is mildly horrifying. When did he become friends with Tendo Choi?

 

The night his sister leaves, he has a dream of Newt. They are both standing before that same window, watching the kaiju on the horizon. There’s three now, one very far away, a mere shadow on the horizon, one perhaps a few miles off, the third moving relentlessly toward them, eyes glowing blue in the dark night. He’s certain this is a dream, so that blunts the fear, but only partially. It’s odd how knowing he’s dreaming does nothing to wake him or blur the vividness of the dream.

“They’re so awesome, right?” Newt says, grinning out the window at the creatures. 

“Not really,” Hermann mutters, leaning on the windowsill. His hip hurts, not as much as it does when he’s awake, but enough that he can’t hold himself up. “You know it’s all your fault I dream of them.”

“Sorry,” Newt cheerily apologizes.

“You aren’t really sorry at all.”

“Nope.”

This is only a dream, so Hermann can tell him, “I wish you were here.”

Newt glances at him, then returns his gaze to the monsters. At the pace the nearer of the beasts is moving, it’ll be here any moment. “Why don’t you call me then?”

“…if you didn’t come, I’d hate you forever. I’d - I’d hate - everything. It’s better like this, this is better than asking you to come and having you not come.”

“Dude, of course I’d come. Don’t be such a dumbass.”

“I don’t know that. I have no way of knowing that. Why would you come? You left, so why would you come?”

“I’d come.”

“You’re just a fucking dream so shut the fuck up.”

“Why on Earth should that mean that it-“

“Don’t fucking quote Harry Potter to me, you piece of shit.”

“You’re the one that has Harry Potter quotes memorized, nerd.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh shit, here’s the kaiju.”

Hermann wakes up as the building collapses on him and Newt, gasping for breath as dust and bricks shatter over his head. He knows it was just a dream, but it’s still a relief to look up and see the ceiling overhead. 

 

They send him home two and a half weeks after he was admitted to the hospital. He can walk, for short distances, using crutches. It leaves him shaking and exhausted. His right leg can’t take any weight at all yet. It still hurts viciously. His other injuries are mostly healed. Some of the scrapes on his torso are going to leave scars. 

Lars pays for a taxi. He’s paying for nearly all of this. Hermann hates being in debt to him with a cold vicious rage. It took so fucking much out of him to get away from his father the first time, and now he’s back under his thumb again. He even had the nerve to try and talk Hermann out of going back to school at all. As it is, he’s going to miss a semester, but Lars seemed deeply disapproving when Hermann said he planned to return after that.

Letting his father into his apartment makes his head spin with embarrassment. All the posters - and at least some of them are moderately academic, but the Star Trek posters, god, how humiliating. He was never permitted to have things like that at home - frivolous, that was the word Lars used. It took him a semester of living alone before he dared to do that for himself. He likes his wall of posters, they are neat and organized and they break the monotony of the white walls, but now, with his father there, he is ashamed of them. 

It’s a relief when he is at last left alone in his apartment.

 

Lars finally returns to Germany two days later. Hermann’s never been so glad to know a person was on a different continent.

 

He can’t work, obviously. He can barely stand longer than a half hour. He feels terrible about leaving Herc without an employee, but Tendo, who seems to have a limitless capacity to befriend people, cheerily suggests a part-time worker. His neighbors, apparently, are a poorer family, and the older of the two teenaged boys would be grateful for any job. So Yancy Becket takes the job on a part-time basis. Herc promises that he’ll be glad to rehire Hermann when he’s ready to come back to work. He doesn’t say if and Hermann is grateful for that.

Chuck hates Yancy immediately, but Hermann thinks that’s more on principle than anything. Chuck won’t even talk to the young man, so it’s not as if Yancy did anything to him.

 

He still has to go to physical therapy. He hates physical therapy. It hurts and it’s humiliating. But he’s determined to learn to do the goddamn best he can with what he’s been given, as soon as fucking possible. He still has to go to physical therapy. 

 

For the most part, he is too busy, too exhausted, to think of Newt. He’s getting rather skilled at blocking out the things he doesn’t want to think of. He uses the pain of his injuries to push all thoughts of Newt away, and he uses studying to push away thoughts of his injuries. He manages to get into some internet classes at his school, so he’s not entirely wasting this semester. They haven’t started yet, but he studies for them preemptively, he also studies for the classes he would have been taken, he reads and he works, harder than he has other semesters. Between that, the still present exhaustion, and the physical therapy, he keeps busy.

He only really misses Newt at night. At night, when the pain keeps him awake, or when the nightmares haunt him, when he lies unsleeping or wakes abruptly…then, he can’t help but think how good it would be to have someone else in this bed with him. How comforting it would be to have an arm flung over him, legs tangling against his, a warm body pressed up against his. He tries to convince himself that it could be anybody, but he knows, really, that what he really wants is Newt. 

He wants Newt. Some nights it feels like too much, to be both hurt and lonely. It shouldn’t be allowed, a person shouldn’t be allowed to be this lonely and miserable when they are also in this much physical pain, it’s not fair. _And when has the world ever been fair?_ he asks himself sternly, and the voice in his head sounds rather like Lars. 

But these thoughts, they are relegated to the nighttime, to darkness, and seem far away and unconnected to him during the day.

 

Some days even getting out of bed feels like too much. September 1st is one of those days. He slept badly all the previous night, waking up more than once, for different reasons. And then, his stupid fucking internal clock wakes him up at about seven in the morning, because that’s the time he always used to wake up, never fucking mind that he hasn’t been doing that for about a month now and has no reason to do it today either. 

He can’t fall back asleep either, for some reason, despite feeling bone fucking tired. He ought to get up, eat food, make tea, but for at least half an hour he simply cannot summon up the will power. He stares blankly at the ceiling, eyes picking out the white edges of the plastic stars, his mind buzzing with dull, half-formed thoughts, not moving an inch. Finally, with a spike of anger - which is always close to the surface these days, and he hates that - he forces himself to sit up and get out of his bed. 

It’s a process these days, he has to be careful about it, and that certainly doesn’t help his motivation. Eventually he’s standing, badly balanced, and lurches over to his fucking crutch. He hates that goddamn thing. He’s supposed to be on a cane eventually, and he looks forward to that. Has to be better than this thing. He limps out into his apartment, forces himself to stay standing long enough to make some food that he doesn’t want to eat, and some tea that he does want. And then he collapses onto his couch and contemplates just staying there for the rest of the fucking day. 

He probably would have too, but around eleven his door buzzes. Hermann stares at the door in confusion for a long moment. Who the fuck- and then it rings again. He sighs, then hauls himself to his feet, and, supporting himself on the wall, hobbles over to the window. He should really fix his stupid intercom.

The sight of the figure standing outside the front door of his apartment hits him like - like that fucking car must have hit him, if only he could remember it. It seems wildly impossible, that it be the person it seems to be, but there is no mistaking that short, muss-haired figure. Hermann stops breathing and stares for a fucking eternity, and then the person below starts to look up and Hermann flinches out of the window without thinking. He entirely forgets his leg, for just a moment, and tries to put his weight on it. It gives way immediately, and he crumples painfully to the ground.

The pain blocks anything out for a sharp infinity, and he folds up over his leg, breathing too harshly to even curse. The buzzer ringing again eventually brings him back to himself, and he sits up cautiously, aware now that his ribs are also stinging. He thinks that he should get up, he should stand up and walk over to the door and let Newt in and talk to him. But instead he sits on the floor, back against the wall, next to the window, and stares at the few meters between him and the door. Standing seems like an insurmountable difficulty, and the distance as vast as the kilometers between here and Germany. He wonders if he is imagining the sound of a tinny voice calling his name. 

The doorbell rings one more time, and then it falls silent. Hermann could twist around and look out the window, see if Newt is still standing there, maybe watch him walk away, but he doesn’t do that either. 

He doesn’t understand why it’s such a shock to him. He knew that Newt was only leaving for the summer. School will be starting in a few days, so of course Newt must be back now. But somehow he never contemplated that Newt would be returning soon, and that it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to come see Hermann.

But why did he come? He was the one that said - Hermann had understood that he meant for the, the breakup -he hates that term, it sounds so fucking juvenile - to be permanent.

 _Permanent_. He hates that word too.

What the fuck did Newt want? Maybe - but when he tries to imagine any possible situation, it makes his stomach twist. Newt talking to him, Newt looking at him…he doesn’t want to even think about it. It hurts, and it makes him angry in all sorts of ways that he doesn’t entirely understand. How dare Newt just show up - after everything - Hermann doesn’t want to deal with this - goddamn him. 

It’s better to not think about it. Wounds will never heal if you’re always poking and prodding at them. You bandage them up, you wrap them tightly and then you leave them the fuck alone and wait for it to get better. 

He can’t help but think that it’s been three and a half months, why isn’t this one better yet?

Tendo comes over the next day. He’s gotten into a habit of showing up whenever he wants to, but he usually texts beforehand. Tendo’s style is to text and say, _can I come over_ , and then, before you can respond, say _cool Im outside ur door_. He uses far more emoticons than a person has any right to. Hermann is just glad that his shitty, old phone - which miraculously still works after the car accident, despite a giant crack in the screen - can’t process emoji. 

“I feel like I should tell you that Newt is back,” Tendo says.

Hermann thinks _a day too fucking late_ , but he’s trying really hard to stop constantly snapping at Tendo. Tendo normally takes it with a cheerful smile, but Hermann still feels rather guilty. His human interaction skills have worsened since the car accident.

So instead he murmurs, with only a hint of bitterness, “I noticed.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“He, um, came by yesterday.”

Tendo raises his eyebrows. “And you pretended to be out, like the mature guy you are?”

Screw being nice to Tendo. “Fuck you.”

“Well, I know you didn’t interact with him, because he told me earlier today that he tried to find you and didn’t succeed…”

“I don’t…I don’t want to see him,” Hermann forces out, the words pricking at his mouth.

Tendo sighs. “Yeah, I get it.” He looks consideringly at Hermann, who drops his gaze to his hands. “You okay?”

“Fine.” People do keep asking him that, all the goddamn time. _Okay_ is joining the list of words he hates.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think Newt feels-“

“I don’t want to know.”

“…okay.”

 

School starts September 3rd, and Hermann switches between misery and anger all day. The anger feels better than the misery, but it takes more energy to keep going. When he runs out of fuel to keep his anger running, there’s a constant stream of misery running underneath. 

He wants to go. It doesn’t help that his leg decided today is a good day to ache extra hard, so that he can barely get out of bed again. He knows that he’s not in good enough condition to go to classes, but he still hates it. He’s so fucking pitiful.

 

The next month is marked by him sulking around his apartment, successfully not crying from pain in physical therapy - and some days that’s the best he can say of it, that he didn’t cry - and receiving a variety of attempted communications from Newt, all avoided by Hermann.

He even sends a goddamn letter through the mail. Who the fuck does that? There’s a peculiar moment where he wants to laugh when he sees the envelope, addressed in Newt’s familiar scrawl. What an absolutely ridiculous thing to do. Then he rips it up and drops it in the trash. 

He still can’t decide what he feels toward Newt. Sometimes it’s just anger. When Newt calls or texts, Hermann’s emotions are simply rage and resentment. In contrast, the times when he comes to Hermann’s door, he feels a relentless pull. Newt is right there, right fucking there. He could limp over to the door and buzz him in, he could be in Newt’s arms in five seconds, god it would feel so good to just be _held_ by him-

But he always reminds himself that it wouldn’t be like that. Newt probably just wants to awkwardly apologize to Hermann, alleviate his own guilt, and then leave. If Tendo was telling the truth when he said that he didn’t tell Newt anything, then he doesn’t even know that Hermann is hurt. Hermann is - _terrified_ might be the best word - he really doesn’t want to see the expression Newt makes when he sees Hermann’s injuries. 

He hates himself when he feels like that. How did he let this happen to himself, how did he let himself come to depend this much on one person, how did he allow himself to put so much power over his own happiness in Newt? And such a goddamn irresponsible person, too. It’s not like he needs Newt to be happy, he doesn’t. But god, having him around would really fucking help.

The texts and calls and visits come farther apart, and by the beginning of October they stop all together. Hermann hates himself even worse when that gives him a sort of empty ache. He should be glad that Newt has given up on him. 

Newt has given up on him. _Don’t touch it, don’t think about it._

 

He discovers that he hates the cold even more than last year. It makes his bones ache, particularly his pelvis, but also his ribs. So does the rain. He was always positive that it was an old wives’ tale that old injuries hurt in bad weather. He tries googling it, and the internet insists that it is just a myth, but whenever it rains, his bones hurt. It’s probably just in his head. It still hurts. 

 

He’s getting better at walking. They put him on a cane at last. It makes him feel like he’s about sixty, but it’s still better than the fucking crutch. 

Tendo insists on celebrating, and so, October 18th, they go out to see a movie. It goes badly. It goes very badly. There are crowds, and people looking at him, and he nearly gets knocked over, and then he stops being able to breathe properly. 

It feels kind of like he’s dying, as his heart races and his breath comes in short sharp gasps. It’s all in his head, and he _knows_ that - this isn’t the first time this has happened, but it is the first time in public - but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying. He puts his head in his hands and makes a quiet space in the middle of the irrational fear swamping his brain, and he fills up that space with the horse shoe nebula. It’s a beautiful nebula. Tendo is saying his name in an appalled voice, but he shuts that out and thinks about space, and stars, and star dust, and binary star systems, and eventually the fear ebbs away. 

“Are you okay?” Tendo asks urgently, leaning over him. He’s sitting on a bench on the edge of the movie theater. He wishes Tendo would back away and give him space to breathe.

“Fine,” he rasps. “It’s nothing.”

“Hermann, that was _not_ fucking nothing. What was that?”

“It was-“

“Don’t lie to me, Hermann, I can tell you’re gonna lie to me, and just _don’t_. If you’re sick - do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“No,” he says, as fiercely as he can manage through the lingering fear and the fatigue that is already creeping in. “There’s nothing wrong with me, I just…” 

“What?” 

Hermann sighs. “It was…ummm.” He doesn’t want to admit to this. There had been one or two moments in the hospital - and an incident when he was alone in his apartment - he thought there was something horribly wrong with him, some unnoticed effect of the car accident, so he googled his symptoms. The result he found made sense, but…this is so fucking humiliating. Still, he knows Tendo won’t let go of this, so he forces himself to say, as quickly as possible. “I believe it was a panic attack.”

Tendo straightens with a startled expression. “A panic- Fuck….” He looks thoughtful then says, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Um. Are you okay? Have you…”

“I’m fine,” Hermann snaps. “I just- I just want to go home, okay?”

Tendo attempts to bring up therapy on the drive home, but Hermann, his voice brittle from the effort of not shouting, growls, “I’m _fine_ ,” and Tendo drops it. 

 

November 6th he kisses Tendo. It’s the briefest of touches, and he regrets it nearly instantly. It doesn’t feel like anything, just skin and a flash of embarrassment. 

“Nothing, eh?” Tendo says, smiling gently.

“I’m sorry,” Hermann mutters, feeling himself turn scarlet. What a stupid thing to have done. “I- I’m sorry, t-that was-“

“It’s fine, Hermann, seriously. I’m always willing to kiss a friend, specially if said friend is hot.”

“Sorry,” Hermann says again, staring at the ground.

“I won’t hold it against you,” Tendo promises, his voice solemn but his face smiling kindly. “We don’t even have to be awkward or anything. I’ll pretend it never happened.”

“…thanks.”

“No problem.”

And then, because he’s already fucked up enough this evening, and might as well carry it all the way, and because this question has been haunting him for months and he simply can’t hold it in anymore, he blurts, “Did you ever sleep with Newt?”

Tendo sighs lightly. “I was wondering when you’d get to that,” he remarks. His face, though still cheerful, takes on a rueful note. “Yeah, a few times, when we first met. But it was…” he pauses. “It was never anything significant, you know? It was platonic sex, is what I’d call it. No romance, at all. And we just kinda…stopped, I dunno. Long before he ever met you, might I add.”

Hermann nods. “Yeah…” he mumbles, simply to have a response. He had figured it was like that. He’s rather relieved to not feel much jealousy. “Thanks, for, um…”

“Yup,” Tendo agrees. 

 

Last year he had the best Christmas of his life. The Christmas after his mother’s death is surely the worst one he’s ever had. This year’s Christmas takes a close second place.

It’s too bad that you’re not supposed to mix alcohol with his pain meds, because, even though Hermann doesn’t normally like getting drunk, tonight would be a great night to get fucking wasted. Maybe that would distract from the loneliness sitting heavy on his chest. 

He’s read in novels where loneliness is described as a hole, but it’s never felt like that to him. It’s not an absence, it’s a presence the exact same weight as the person that should be with him, sitting on his sternum, dragging on him relentlessly. He’s surprised that the healed breaks in his ribs don’t crack again under the weight. 

 

Hermann Gottlieb’s New Year’s Resolutions: Just stop. Stop feeling like this. Stop being like this. Stop. 

 

January 7th the new semester starts. Simply stepping foot on campus feels strange, but brilliant. It’s odd, being here again, so different from how he was before. He’s had to visit campus a few times since he was hurt, to deal with the rescheduling and all that, but this time feels different. He’s here as a student now. It’s a fucking relief. 

Tendo offers to drive him to school, and he hates having to depend on him like that, but he accepts reluctantly. He can walk the distance now, but it’s…not easy. And there is a bus system too, which he takes some days, but it’s not fucking pleasant. The first time someone gives up a seat to him, he’s so fucking humiliated that he nearly starts hyperventilating again. The bus always makes him nearly overwhelmingly anxious. He only takes it because the only other option is to be purely dependent on Tendo. 

 

January 15th, he’s walking to class, not paying much attention to his surroundings. He turns a corner sharply and something heavy and person-shaped slams into him. His stupid fucking leg gives way immediately, and he falls to the cold ground, his cane flying out of his hand. 

He swears, and then the pain hits and he’s wordless, bending sharply over the pain jagging along his thigh. “Oh shit, sorry, that was my bad,” the other person apologizes, and the world falls apart because he knows that voice. He knows it, how could he not know it, when Newt has such a distinctive voice, that shrill voice that he found annoying right up until it became cute, that is Newt’s voice. 

His head jerks up, and before he can stop himself he’s looking into Newt’s eyes. The light is grey and cold today. Newt’s eyes reflect it and look just as grey - but not cold. Newt isn’t capable of cold. Newt is only varying degrees of warmth. Those eyes stare back at him, widening, shock and then horror written over them. The horror hurts even worse than Hermann expected it to. 

“Hermann?” Newt whispers, and suddenly Hermann is burning with fury. This is just so fucking typical of Newt, to find him on accident, to literally fucking walk into him. How fucking dare he. He left, so why can’t he just be _gone_?

Newt has one hand thrust out, presumably to help him up, but there’s no way in hell that Hermann is going to touch him. He drops his gaze to the ground, thankful when he finds his cane nearly immediately. He grabs it and, bracing it against the ground, uses it to lever himself back into a standing position. The movement makes his damaged nerve scream in protest, and in some point of his mind he worries that he’s fucking it up even worse, but it’s worth it.

Newt straightens too, jerkily, still staring at him uncomprehendingly. “What the-“ 

“Fuck off,” Hermann growls, and it doesn’t feel as good as he would have predicted. He wants this to be over. He wants to get out of here. He can feel the familiar jittering edge of fear starting to grip at his heart, and he, at this moment, can think of nothing worse than having a panic attack in front of Newt. So he simply brushes past him and starts walking away, his leg protesting every step.

“Hermann- Wait!” Newt calls after him, and he flinches. There’s no way he can possibly outrun Newt like this. If Newt wants to catch up, he will, and then Hermann will fall apart in front of his eyes. Why, why does it have to be like this, why does he have to be this weak, _why_ -

But Newt doesn’t chase after him. The relief tastes like acid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...I actually did a fair bit of research on Hermann's injuries. I used some of the info I found, and then I also...um, lets say altered, some details to fit better what I wanted.  
> But basically, he broke his pelvis bone, which can cause damage to the femoral nerve, a nerve in your leg. Normally that can heal up, but...not always. You can be left with permanent damage and pain. If anyone wants to know where I got my info, just ask me and I'll send you the links. :)


	3. Black Holes and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tendo is a really good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Starlight by Muse.  
> I forgot to ask permission to post it but geniusbee (on tumblr) drew a BEAUTIFUL, GORGEOUS drawing based on Hermann's nightmares and omg it's incredible and you should all go check it out.

January 15, 2014

Maybe it looks like he’s storming off angrily, but it feels more like running away. His heart is shaking inside his chest. He just wants to go home, but he’s not sure he can walk all the way there, not like this. So he ducks inside the nearest building - the school library - and collapses onto one of the benches lining the lobby. His leg hurts, and he has the by now familiar feeling of being unable to catch his breath. 

_No no no not here not in public please no_ , his mind stutters as his breath catches and his heart shudders. He glances around desperately at the current of students passing through the room. Someone’s bound to notice if he starts hyperventilating in the middle of the library. He needs to get out of here but-

 _Thinking about it just makes it worse_ , he tells himself. So he shuts his eyes and presses his tingling hands against the lids until he sees splotches of color, he bites the inside of his cheek, and he starts reciting the names of every nebula he can remember - which is a fairly considerable list. He stays in this position, leaning against the cold wall, until his heart resumes a normal pace and he can control his breathing. 

He opens his eyes cautiously, color still dancing against his retinas, afraid of seeing students leaning over him concernedly. But no one’s there - he’s still sitting alone on the padded bench, and the flow of students is undisturbed. He lets out a shaking sigh of relief.

That was surely the worst possible way to run into Newt. He literally fucking ran into him. His thigh lets out another dull stab of pain to remind him of that. All that time he spent trying to avoid Newt, and he thought it was finally over, and now this. God, why is it making him feel like this - it must just be the shock -

His phone is ringing. As he pulls it out of his pocket, he’s afraid for a moment that it will be Newt, but the name, distorted by the huge crack running through the small screen, is Tendo. _How can he possibly know?_ Hermann thinks, astonished again at Tendo’s ability to know everything. Then he remembers that Tendo and Newt are friends. Right. Newt probably called Tendo immediately. 

Hermann sighs and considers not answering. The phone ceases to ring before he makes up his mind, and he considers that an acceptable result. It's not as if he ignored the call, he simply didn't answer in time. But even as he goes to put his phone back, it starts ringing again. He scowls but reluctantly answers. Tendo could do this all day. He’s relentless.

“What.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Newt just called me- Are you sure?“

“I’m _fine_.”

Silence comes over the line, and Hermann can practically hear Tendo considering whether to push the point or not. It’s clear he doesn’t believe Hermann - who can’t really blame him for that, as he is absolutely lying - but apparently he decides to let it go. “…Okay. Well, he’s coming to meet me now…do you…care what I say? To him? About you?”

“…No.”

“Um. Okay. Well-“

“Shit,” Hermann gasps suddenly, staring toward the front of the library where the wall of doors is located. “ _Shit_. Where are you?”

“…I’m in the library?”

“Shitshitshit,” Hermann mutters, ducking his head and praying not to be seen.

“What? Wait, why-“

“Hermann?” Newt says blankly, stopping a few feet away from him. 

“Oh fuck, was that Newt? Oh shit, are you in the library too? Shit. Um. Where are you?”

“…lobby,” Hermann says in a small voice, staring at Newt, who is staring back at him. He wonders which is more shocked of the two of them.

“Ohhhkay, on my way. Be there in a sec.”

The line goes dead. Hermann drops his phone to his lap. He and Newt look at each other.

“Um, I wasn’t - I didn’t follow you here, or anything,” Newt says abruptly. Hermann has lost access to English - German too, it would seem - and simply nods without saying a word. 

Newt is - he’s so utterly _Newt_. He’s wearing a green jacket that Hermann doesn’t recognize, and it makes his eyes look gray-green instead of their usual blue. His hair is maybe a little less wild than last year, but still far from neat. He has new glasses, and a little bit of stubble on his chin. And there are all those changes and a hundred of other subtle differences, but he is still Newt. Sitting before him now, Hermann has the sensation that he could be back at the bench, that none of this time has passed, that Newt is leaving him still.

At the same time, he’s perfectly aware of how much everything has changed, of how he himself has been altered, and Newt may look exactly the same but these days Hermann looks in the mirror and barely recognizes the person staring back. He wonders that Newt was able to recognize him.

It feels like his heart is collapsing in on itself, and taking his lungs and all his other internal organs with it, a mini black hole forming inside his chest. He’s sure he is angry, but right now that anger is lost somewhere in the depths and he can’t find it. 

“Hermann…” Newt says, then trails off, apparently uncertain of what to say. Hermann doesn’t say anything at all.

He thought he would be better by now. Newt hasn’t attempted to contact him since October, and he thought it had been long enough to make all of this go away. He expected these feelings to be gone by now and they _aren’t_. What more is he supposed to do, how can he make it go away? He wants it to go away, he doesn’t want to feel like this anymore, he doesn’t want to want someone that doesn’t want him. 

He can see Newt trying to not look at his leg and his cane, and he goes cold with something a lot like shame. He can’t bear to look at Newt an instant longer, so he looks instead at the ground, the marble lobby floor scuffed with foot prints and melting traces of the slush that is passing as snow outside. It’s snowed more this year than last, and Hermann has found he no longer likes snow. It makes it even harder to walk. Newt is wearing worn combat boots. Hermann looks at his own faded sneakers. He should get nicer shoes. These ones aren’t warm enough. He has to wear two layers of socks just for his feet to not go numb, and they look so shabby.

A pair of black, shiny shoes comes into view, skidding to a stop beside Newt. “Hey, ‘m here, Newt, hey,” Tendo pants. Hermann wonders if he ran all the way. 

“Tendo?” Newt says blankly. Hermann forces himself to look up at the both of them. Tendo is leaning on Newt’s shoulder, gasping for breath. Hermann remembers with sudden vividness the first time he met Tendo, when he leaned on Newt like that and Hermann was so astonished. It feels like forever ago, but it was only about a year. 

Tendo frowns at Hermann with obvious concern. Hermann forces his face into a semblance of calmness, and scowls back at him. 

“You okay?” Tendo asks anyway. 

“Fine,” Hermann says shortly. He’s pleased that his voice does not sound like someone with a black hole currently expanding underneath their rib-cage. 

Newt looks between the two of them, his brows drawing together in confusion. “What’s- What is happening here?” he demands, shrill with stress. 

Tendo is still looking at Hermann. “Maybe we should…go somewhere more _private_ to talk this over?” he suggests carefully. Hermann wishes Tendo wouldn’t be so obvious about watching him for signs of emotional distress. It makes him feel like he’s one of those people that at any second is capable of going into a full on hysterical fit. You have one panic attack in front of a person and suddenly you’re a time bomb.

He doesn’t want to go somewhere to talk this over. He wants to go home. He wants to crawl under his blankets and sleep for fifty hours and never talk to anyone ever again, particularly not boys that have freckles and dreams of being a rock star. That is what he wants, but he also wants Tendo to stop looking at him like that, and he wants to be stronger than he has been in the past, and he wants this to all be over. So he stands up carefully - his leg doesn’t hurt as bad as he would have expected, and he’s not at all sure that’s a good thing, considering one sign of nerve damage can be numbness - and says icily, “Fine with me.”

Tendo looks astonished, and then nods approvingly. Hermann thinks _fuck you_ at him as loudly as possible. It’s not as if he’s utterly incapable of behaving like an adult. Tendo needn’t look so surprised. Newt clearly still has no idea of what is going on. His gaze flickers again over Hermann’s cane, and then he says, “Um, okay…Sounds good,” in an uncertain voice. 

Hermann still feels weird going into cafés other than Striker Eureka. It feels almost like a betrayal. Every time he steps foot into a Starbucks he imagines Chuck staring at him accusingly. And there’s also a sense of oddness in being the customer and not the barista. He misses working at Striker, more than he would have expected.

Tendo claims a small table in the corner, and, as he goes to order a drink - because Tendo Choi is incapable of going into a coffee shop and not immediately buying coffee - Hermann walks over to the table and sits next to the window. Newt follows uncertainly behind, still looking as if he has abruptly been told that up is in fact down and 2 plus 2 does not equal four. He sits hesitantly across from Hermann, who stares out the window and doesn’t say anything. He wants this to be over, but he can’t bring himself to start the conversation. He wishes Newt would ask him what happened, as he clearly wants to, so that he can explain it as shortly as possible. Then Newt can say whatever it is he wants - maybe some bullshit apology that Hermann doesn’t want to hear - and then this will be over, and he’ll never have to see Newt again and feel like a black hole’s gravitational pull is slowly encroaching on his intestines.

Tendo comes back at last. “Oh. You guys aren’t talking. I totally left so you could talk.”

“Oh,” Newt replies uncomfortably. “Um.”

“Should I leave again?”

Hermann doesn’t want to be left alone with Newt, but he also doesn’t want to say that. He can see the reflection of Tendo look at him, and a moment later hears him sigh. The reflection sits down next to Newt’s image. “He’s probably not going to say a word until you do,” Tendo tells Newt. “You know how good he is at sharing his feelings and stuff? Well, he’s only gotten better at that.”

“Fuck you,” Hermann says sharply, turning to look at the at last.

Tendo shrugs and smiles humorlessly and says, “Ah, there you are.”

Newt continues to gape at the two of them, clearly uncertain of what to say. Hermann thinks bitterly that this might be the first time in Newton Geiszler’s life that he hasn’t had something to say.

“Just fucking _ask_ already,” Hermann snaps. 

Newt opens and closes his mouth, then squares his shoulder, gestures at Hermann, and asks, “What the hell happened to you?” Hermann is grateful for his directness.

“Car accident.” He decided a few months ago that this is the best answer. The simple “A car hit me,” though a more accurate description, provokes more pity than he is comfortable with. Car accident is more within the normal bounds of events, and also maybe makes it sound like it was at least partially his fault.

Newt goes white, and Hermann flinches and looks down at the table, the black hole aching. He can’t help but think how much worse it would have been if Newt had seen him when he was really fucked up. 

“…When?” Newt asks next, his voice ragged. This question is a little worse. This question is the one that will make it really clear how bad it is.

“…August.”

Newt swears once, quiet and sharp. Hermann clenches his hands into fists in his lap. 

“But the limp…” Newt starts.

“Permanent.” His voice remains steady. He’s proud of himself. “Nerve damage.” The words feel comfortable in his mouth these days, and he’s perfectly aware of how fucked up that is.

The silence is long this time. The noises of the Starbucks wax and wane around them, but do not protrude on the bubble of shocked silence in their corner. Hermann focuses on the hissing of one of the machines because it’s better than listening to Newt not say a word. 

It’s broken when Newt suddenly aggressively turns to Tendo and says loudly, “Why didn’t you call me!” It’s not a question, the way he says it. 

Tendo’s voice is perfectly calm when he answers. “Hermann asked me not to.” Hermann glances at them from under his eyelashes. Tendo sips disinterestedly at his drink.

Newt draws back in surprise, and transfers his focus back to Hermann, who stiffens under his gaze. “You asked him to- What? Wh-why?”

He doesn’t really want to answer this question. There’s so many possible responses, and he’s not sure which one is true. Maybe none of them are. Maybe all of them are.

He picks the easiest one. “I didn’t want to deal with you on top of everything else.” He can hear how cold his voice sounds when he says it. Tendo looks at him over the edge of his coffee cup. It’s a judgmental look, and Hermann returns it icily.

“O-oh.” Hurt flashes across Newt’s face, and Hermann’s anger abruptly resurfaces. _He’s_ hurt? Hermann is the one that got hit by a fucking car! How can he be so goddamn selfish? He’s _always_ been like this. The anger feels good. It’s better than the sucking emptiness of the black hole, at least. 

Riding the strength of the anger, he says, “Look, if that’s all-“

“No, wait,” Newt interrupts anxiously. “I- I’ve really been wanting to talk to you ever since I got back, I mean, you probably noticed-“

Of course he fucking noticed. Newt’s about as subtle as a flashing red light. He actually sent a fucking letter, how ridiculous.

“And, um, I just wanted to…” he trails off, looking anxiously at Hermann. Hermann glares back. Stupid ocean-colored eyes. Newt takes a deep breath and continues. “I wanted to apologize. I’m really sorry.”

It hurts. Newt apologizes and it hurts. He’s _sorry_? How dare he be sorry - he just left and - and now he’s sorry? Like that makes it okay? And Newt never apologizes, not sincerely, but if he’s apologizing for this then it means he knows he did something wrong. He _did_ do something wrong. It wouldn’t hurt like this if he hadn’t done something wrong. And how dare he show up again after all this fucking time and make Hermann hurt? He tries to breathe in but the black hole is shredding through his lungs. 

When it becomes apparent that Hermann isn’t going to respond, Newt starts speaking again. “I - I can’t say I didn’t have fun in Germany, but the whole time, I couldn’t stop missing you…I kept wanting to tell you things and I wanted to see you and I felt so shitty over the way I ended things…I - I know that I really, really fucked things up. And I just really wanted to - to see you again. I’m so fucking sorry, Hermann-”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Hermann snarls. His voice is shaking. The words burn at his throat. Newt flinches. “Do you think you can just come back and say _sorry_ and that makes _anything_ better? And I’ll just, what, am I supposed to just _forgive_ you and everything will be back to how it was, is that what you think, do you really-“

“No!” Newt says, holding up his hands defensively. Hermann is strangely relieved to be stopped. He couldn’t quite contain himself there, and he doesn’t like how that felt, the words slipping out beyond his control. He clenches and unclenches his hands compulsively, trying to pull himself back together.

Newt, watching him with wide, anxious eyes, continues. It’s odd, this conversation. He’s used to speaking harshly to Newt and having him respond in kind. Those fights, they were rarely serious, but even when they were, Newt never spoke this gently or uncertainly. “I know that’s not- That’s not what I’m saying. I just…” he bites his lip, nervously eyeing up Hermann. “I know I fucked up. And that it’s not…it’s not okay. But I want to…I want to try and, and make up for that.”

“How?” Hermann spits. “How can you make _anything_ better?”

Newt shakes his head helplessly. “I-“ He drops his gaze finally. “Hermann, I…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” he repeats with a cruel edge, unable to hold the words back. Does he want to hold the words back? “You want to try but you don’t even fucking have a plan, you don’t _know_?”

“I don’t know!” Newt says again, loudly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know, I don’t know what to do, I just miss you every fucking day and I want- I don’t want things to be like this with us! Herm, I-“

“ _Don’t fucking call me that._ ”

Newt gasps as if he’s injured. “I-I, I’m _sorry_.”

“I don’t want to hear your goddamned apologies!” Hermann hisses, the words scraping out of his throat. 

There’s a long silence that reels out between them, Hermann’s ears ringing. The metaphor of the black hole is starting to break down because he’s not sure that black holes can crack. _Well_ , he decides, _his can_. 

“I’m sorry, Hermann,” Newt whispers again, and his voice breaks. His face is still turned down, staring at his lap, so Hermann doesn’t realize he’s crying until Newt puts one hand to his face and scrubs furiously at his eyes.

He’s on his feet without being aware of moving, pushing himself away from the table and walking out of there as quickly as he can move. He hears Tendo call out his name, but he doesn’t care, he does not give a fuck because he cannot possibly stay in here a moment longer. The feeling in him…it’s like in his dreams, when he’s standing before that window, and he’s had that same dream enough times now that he knows the ceiling is about to collapse. That’s how he feels. He knows the ceiling is about to fall in on him, and he needs to get out. He needs to be anywhere but here. He walks blindly away from the café, no idea of where he’s going, for once barely cognizant of his leg.

Seeing Newt cry makes everything tilt on its side. He made Newt cry. Newt cried. Newt, who is always smiling and laughing and confident, who always skates through life, sliding past obstacles as if they didn’t exist, who the world always seemed to fall neatly in place for, that Newt, cried. Because of him. 

Why does he give a damn if Newt cries?

There’s part of him that’s horrified at seeing Newt cry. There’s part of him that wants to comfort Newt, even wants to apologize. Newt crying is so fucking wrong, and knowing that he caused it makes him feel sick. 

But there’s also a part of him that is satisfied, some part of him that thinks _there, how do you like it? No more than you deserve_. Newt hurt him, and now he has repaid some part of that hurt. It’s vindictive and satisfied, this part of him. 

Hermann has always known that he isn’t a nice person. He has never particularly minded. He doesn’t see the point in being nice. Seems like a bloody waste of energy. But he has never thought of himself as being cruel or mean. He never knew that there was a part of him that was this ugly. He takes a moment of pleasure in Newt being hurt, and that makes him feel even more sick. For a moment he thinks he really might be physically ill. He stops walking and leans against a tree, free hand pressed against his mouth, waiting for it to pass.

He’s just so fucking confused, about _everything_. And hurt and furious and lonely and scared, and everything is so mixed up and he doesn’t understand. He’s so angry with Newt - but _why_ , just because Newt left him? So Newt did something stupid, Newt is _always_ stupid, and he has apologized, and admitted it was wrong, and he’s been trying to do so for months, it’s been _months_ , and yet Hermann is still so angry and he doesn’t know _why_. He’s just angry with, with _everything_. With a world that can be like this, so unfair and illogical, that he could have this many things go wrong for him in such a short amount of time, a run of bad luck that is simply _improbable_. And with himself, for being so weak, for feeling like this, for being so reckless, for falling in love with someone that is _always_ stupid and reckless, for letting his well-being be controlled in anyway by other people, for making such horrible choices in who those people are, for going out walking on a dark street at 2 am in the morning. And none of those things are Newt’s fault, but it’s hard to separate the anger at Newt from the anger at everything else, and he finds himself laying it all on Newt because he doesn’t know what blame belongs where. Maybe it’s no one’s fault, but how can that be? 

And how can he simultaneously want to tell Newt to go to hell and never see him again, and want to fall into Newt’s arms and be _warm_ for goddamn once and stay with him for the rest of fucking ever, how can he want both of those things? How can he hold himself together like this and yet feel like he’s falling apart? How can he be frozen numb on the inside and yet burning with anger? How can he be lonely and yet not want anyone near him? How can he want to be held and yet resent any touch? How can he hate and love someone at the same time? How can he still be in love with Newt? _Is_ he still in love with Newt? _Does_ he hate Newt?

Hermann doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand any of it, he doesn’t understand a single goddamn thing, and he hates not knowing things. He doesn’t make any sense. Newt doesn’t make any sense. Human beings, human relationships, the human heart and the human mind, none of it is logical. He wishes he could turn off the parts of his brain that feel emotion, and then he could just fucking do mathematics. Even when nature seems to be behaving oddly, there’s always some underlying rule that explains it all. Even if you haven’t found it yet, it’s there, and once you find it you can predict what will happen next, and if the law you found is accurate, then that event will occur. Human beings are completely different. They don’t follow laws, they always change, sometimes they are logical and sometimes they are completely irrational, sometimes they tell you they love you and sometimes they leave for foreign countries, and then come back and say that they made a mistake after all. Stars don’t leave. They are always right where they should be. They don’t take walks in the middle of the night when they should be asleep. They don’t fuck absolutely everything up. 

He straightens up to start walking again and his leg twinges horribly. It has that feeling it gets sometimes, like if he puts any weight on it then it will simply collapse. His hand hurts too from gripping at his cane too hard. There’s no way he can walk home like this, he realizes. And he can’t ask Tendo for a ride, he looked furious when Hermann walked away. Fuck, he’s fucked that up too, now Tendo’s probably pissed at him for acting like a complete piece of _shit_. Goddammit. God _damm_ it it’s not like he had that many friends and now he’s fucked that up too. What the hell is he _doing_?

He tries to force his thoughts away from this direction. It just leads in painful circles. How to get home, he reminds himself. He can’t walk, can’t get a ride…that leaves the bus. Oh god he doesn’t want to face the bus right now, he’s not sure when it’s coming and he’s not sure he can bear the people and the staring and the fucking _handicapped seating_. His heart beats unevenly and he thinks, _just stop. Stop thinking about it. It’s the fucking bus you will not be defeated by the fucking bus you are_ not _that_ pathetic. _You can ride the fucking bus. Stop being such a fucking coward all the time._

He just needs a moment. To calm himself down. Then he can do it. Then he will do it. He just needs to sit down until his leg stops hurting so much. 

Tendo finds him about an hour and a half later, sitting and shivering on a bench on the side of the sidewalk, not far from the tree he was leaning against. It’s not _the_ bench. He stays away from that one. Tendo nearly walks past him, and he nearly doesn’t notice Tendo at all. Then Tendo, a pace away from him, stops and turns around. When he looks at Hermann and props his hands on his hips, Hermann, after a delay, realizes it's him. _He looks angry_ , Hermann observes blankly. His mind seems to have stopped functioning. He’s so tired. 

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Tendo snaps, obviously livid. “I know you’re pissed at Newt, but that was out of line. Seriously, what the fuck?”

Hermann doesn’t remember how to cry. He never cries. He hates crying, but right now he almost wishes he could cry, because even the black hole can’t consume everything that is swirling in him. _It’s the cracks_ , he thinks illogically. Things are falling through the cracks. Maybe crying could let some of those things out. He looks up at Tendo and says, helplessly, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own, “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what I’m _doing_ , Tendo.”

The anger flows out of Tendo in an instant. Hermann is envious. He wishes he could just let go of his anger. Tendo’s shoulders slump. “I know, Hermann,” he says tiredly. He sighs, looks Hermann over, and says in a gentler tone, “Come on, let’s get you home. I’m parked nearby.”

Tendo drives him home. Neither of them says a word until they reach Hermann’s apartment building. “I’m sorry, Tendo,” Hermann mutters, feeling as if he has to say it. He’s never been so keenly aware that Newt is Tendo’s best friend. 

“It’s fine, Hermann. Or-“ Tendo hesitates. “’Fine’ might not be the word. But I get it.”

He stares at his hands. “…thank you. You’re…um. You’re…a good friend.” The last few words come out nearly inaudible. 

Tendo hears him. He looks surprised, and at that Hermann discovers that he can feel even more like shit than he already does. _He’s_ a terrible friend, obviously. He doesn’t deserve Tendo as a friend in any way. “…thanks, Hermann. I try.”

Hermann jerks his head in a nod. “I’m…going to go home now,” he says. “Good bye.”

“Bye, Hermann.”

It’s a miracle that he makes it up to his apartment. He is so ungodly, bone deep tired that staying standing for the elevator ride seems nearly impossible. He doesn’t even bother worrying about the old elevator’s shaking today. If it falls, it falls. _It wouldn’t be so terrible to be killed like that_ , he thinks numbly, and it would be fairly in keeping with this past half year. 

He’s certain this elevator will be the death of him some day, but today is not that day. He makes it to the fourth floor in safety, and at last he is in his own apartment. Fuck dinner, fuck homework, fuck brushing his teeth or changing his clothes. He crawls under the blankets and lies face down on his bed. This is the worst he has felt in months. He waits, once again, for tears to come, but they don’t. The previous times he felt this bad he at least teared up, even if he managed to hold himself together and stop them from falling, but this time his eyes are so dry that they hurt. He starts to think that maybe his tear ducts are broken, but instead the thought _maybe I’m broken_ comes. 

_Maybe I’m broken._

He lets the black hole still spinning ominously in his chest expand until it pulls his brain into its event horizon and he falls asleep. He’s standing before that window, a kaiju directly outside, looking at him with alien eyes. He knows the ceiling is about to collapse. 

It does.


	4. The Sun Set In Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt makes not completely horrible choices, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sunset by The Xx  
> I'm not totally happy with this chapter, but I couldn't think what else to do with it, and it's already been four days, so...here it is :)  
> oh, and, I was thinking...I know this fic has a lot of possibly upsetting topics, such as the anxiety and panic attacks, and so I was just wondering...if anyone wants me to put some trigger warnings on it, please let me know! I tried to include the ones I could think of, but if you think I missed any, I would really appreciate if you told me. I wouldn't want to like, I dunno, ambush anyone with that stuff or anything.  
> Thanks so much!

January 16, 2014

Newt wakes up determined to talk to Hermann again. He’s not sure where the decision comes from. Yesterday it seemed agonizingly clear that Hermann never wanted to see him again. He was, and still is, convinced that Hermann absolutely fucking hates him now. Every time his mind insists on replaying that conversation, he flinches. He’s never seen Hermann act like that before. Hermann can be cold, but he isn’t usually cruel. Yesterday he was vicious. He really must hate Newt - and with good reason, Newt has to admit. Yesterday, he was thinking the best plan might be to just leave Hermann alone, at least for a little while.

But today he’s absolutely certain that he has to go and try to talk to Hermann again. He simply can’t leave things like this. It’s too horrible, for that to be the last time they meet, the last things they say to each other. It sits uneasily in his stomach, tugging at his mind and demanding attention. He thinks he’ll never be able to rest easy again knowing that things are like this between them. 

And there’s also the small matter of the way that the pain in Hermann’s eyes - his posture, his voice, his expression, his _everything_ \- is tearing him to pieces. If he doesn’t do something about that, he’ll fucking lose it.

Initially he tries to ask Tendo for help. He's not sure how the fuck it happened, but Tendo and Hermann seem to have become pretty good friends. He's not sure how to feel about that. But Tendo is extremely uncooperative and refuses to tell him anything about where he might be able to find Hermann, not even whether or not he has classes today. He tells Newt to just leave it alone when he initially asks, and now keeps sending him texts every ten minutes along the lines of _just give him space_ and _it’s not my fault if he kills you_ \- so Newt skulks around the physics buildings all day. He particularly lurks around the corner where he ran into Hermann yesterday, as that is the only place that he knows Hermann goes to. He waits for hours, casually cutting classes, but by 4:30 in the afternoon his feet are going numb in the cold and there’s still no sign of him at all. Newt is starting to suspect that Hermann isn’t at school. Time for Plan B.

Plan B is fairly simple: go to Hermann’s apartment, ring on the buzzer, and hope. Newt is aware it isn’t the strongest plan - it certainly hasn’t worked for him up until now, and Hermann may not even be there. But it’s the best he’s got, so he turns off his phone - Tendo is getting really annoying - and drives there. 

He hasn’t been to Hermann’s apartment since sometime in September. It feels odd to be standing before his door again. How much of his life can he spend waiting in front of Hermann’s door, hoping to be let in? Somehow, this time reminds him more of last Christmas than of all those unfulfilled days in fall. The feeling of mixed anxiety and hope, perhaps. He decides to take that as a good sign. After all, that time worked out pretty well for him. 

Newt takes a deep breath and resolutely pushes the buzzer, then takes a step back and cranes his neck up to look at Hermann’s window. Nothing happens. He can’t even see a flicker of movement. At least the first time he came here this school year there was movement. _Maybe he didn’t hear it_ , he thinks, even though he knows that’s total bullshit, and uses that as reason to push the buzzer again. 

He realizes how little he’s actually expecting any response when the window is abruptly thrown open. He starts back, heart abruptly in his throat, as Hermann thrusts his head out the window, shouting “ _What_ -“ then falling sharply silent when he sees Newt. 

“H-hey,” he calls up awkwardly. “Um. I wanted to…talk to you…if that’s okay?”

It’s enough of a distance between the floors that Newt can’t clearly read Hermann’s expression. He hangs out the window for a moment, staring at Newt, not saying a word. Then he vanishes back into the apartment, and doesn’t reappear.

“Oh,” Newt whispers. He wasn’t expecting much more than that, but it still opens up a new hole in his heart. He watches Hermann’s window, then drops his gaze to the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets. It feels to him like it’s gotten colder out. He scuffs his feet in the thin layer of snow drifting on the stoop, and reluctantly turns away from the door. 

A buzzing sound comes from behind him. He doesn’t recognize it for a second, and nearly keeps walking, until the memory crashes in on him. That’s the sound that the door makes when someone from the inside unlocks it. Newt jerks around, flinging himself at the door before it can lock again, barely yanking it open in time. He stands in the doorway, heart pounding from the sudden adrenaline rush, the cold of the metal handle leaking through his thin knit gloves. _Did Hermann unlock it for me?_ he barely allows himself to wonder. 

He braces himself, and starts up the stairs. He’s half afraid that he’ll reach the fourth floor and see Hermann’s closed door and find out that someone in some other apartment accidentally opened the door. It’s almost a relief when he sees Hermann standing in the doorway, leaning on his cane.

Except it’s not a relief at all, because at the sight of Hermann, it hits him all over again, a visceral reaction like he was punched in the gut. The cane. The limp. “ _A car crash_ ,” Hermann said yesterday. God. God, his poor, poor Hermann. Or, not his, not anymore. But fuck, fuck, Hermann. 

He knows, instantly, instinctively, that Hermann would hate it if he knew that Newt was thinking like this. He would hate being pitied. So he does his best to flatten his expression and not stare at the cane. It’s not easy. 

“Thanks for letting me in,” he says, suddenly shy, as he reaches the landing. 

“I, um, wanted to talk to you too…” Hermann responds, equally hesitant. 

“Oh,” is all a startled Newt can say. Hermann wants to talk to him too? That’s not what he was expecting at all. Is that good or bad?

Hermann doesn’t say anything more, and the two are left staring uncomfortably at each other, Newt still lingering at the top of the staircase. Yesterday he was too shocked by Hermann’s limp to notice, but now he finds himself thinking that Hermann really doesn’t look well. He always was pale and skinny, but it looked perfectly healthy before. Now he’s pale in the way of someone that’s been ill recently, with noticeable shadows under his eyes. Newt recognizes the sweater he’s wearing, and he’s certain it didn’t hang as loosely on him before. _That’s no good_ , Newt catches himself thinking. Hermann was already skinny as fuck, he really can’t spare the weight. His face looks kind of hollow. 

But he's still so damn good-looking, Newt can't help but think. That's not appropriate. He shouldn't think that. But he's still so beautiful. Newt wants to touch him. 

The silence is making him increasingly uneasy, so he blurts out, “Sorry about suddenly showing up like this. I just, I really needed to, um, to talk to you - uh, I guess you do too-“ Hermann is watching him warily. Newt doesn’t know how to handle this situation. He’s suddenly afraid of what it is that Hermann wants to say to him. Maybe he’s planning to tell Newt, directly this time, that he doesn’t want to see Newt anymore. Desperation ferments in his brain. He has to try and convince Hermann to not do that. “Listen, Hermann, I know that you - you must hate me-“

“I don’t hate you,” Hermann interrupts. Newt falls silent, thrown by what he just heard. Hermann does that thing where he sort of runs his teeth over his lips, and flexes his hands, both classic signs that he’s agitated but pretending not to be. He glances away from Newt and adds, “Well - I don’t -“ he lets out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know. I - possibly I hate you but I also don’t - would you like to come in?” 

Newt’s having a hard time following. He’s still processing “ _I don’t hate you._ ” Hermann doesn’t hate him... Possibly. Then he realizes Hermann has backed away from the door and is looking at him uncertainly, and his brain replays the sudden change in topic. “Oh. Wait. Wha- Can I- Yeah. Okay.” 

He steps hesitantly through the doorway. Hermann’s apartment has changed in a few minor ways, and it’s strangely disorienting. It reinforces his awareness of how long it’s been. He’s sure that some of the stacks of books are in different places, and all are pushed up against the wall now. The coffee table is now sitting to the side of the battered couch instead of in front of it, leaving a wide empty space in the middle of the room. 

Hermann is staring fixedly at the couch. Newt’s not sure why, until it occurs to him that Hermann is fairly lacking in furniture, and it’s the only place to sit. And it’s still just as small as before, so that two people sitting side by side have hardly any room left between them. It never mattered before, because when they were sitting on the couch they always wanted to be touching. Hermann was so unexpectedly affectionate most of the time. Newt’s chest aches, realizing that now Hermann isn’t really comfortable sitting close to him, even as he understands why. Fuck, he wants to touch him. Not even in a sexual way. He kind of just wants to hug him or hold his hands. Are his hands still constantly cold?

“Um, would you like some tea?” Hermann offers abruptly, turning his gaze away from the couch.

It’s been ages since he’s had Hermann’s tea. “Y-yeah, thanks,” he responds. God, this is awkward. He hates how uncomfortable this is. They used to fit so well together. 

Hermann walks into his kitchen, and Newt tries to not flinch each time his cane hits the ground. Newt stands on the edge of the room, trying to figure out what to do with himself. He looks at the couch again, which definitely can’t hold both of them without it being awkward. _Well_ , he thinks, _not on the seat cushions at least_. He frowns thoughtfully at the couch, walking across the room to it. He thinks the arms could hold him. He sits down tentatively, and finds that indeed he can just balance on the right arm. When Hermann turns around from the sink, Newt has settled in rather comfortably, back against the wall, hardly taking up any space at all. He smiles tentatively. Hermann doesn’t smile back, but Newt thinks maybe a fraction of the tension in his face lessens. 

“Sorry to, um, surprise you at home,” Newt offers. “I looked for you at school…”

Hermann leans against the counter as he waits for the tea to brew, twisting his hands and staring at them. “I didn’t go today,” he says. “I, um, wasn’t feeling well.”

Newt looks at him anxiously. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Hermann snaps with a scowl. “I’m just…sore, after…yesterday.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Newt gasps, clapping a hand over his mouth as he recollects knocking Hermann over. His stomach lurches with guilt. 

“It’s fine,” Hermann repeats, still not meeting Newt’s eyes. The tense silence descends again. 

Newt shifts on the couch, more from nerves than discomfort. He tugs his jacket off and folds it over his legs for the sake of having something to do. Hermann looks up at the motion, his eyes pausing on Newt’s arms.

“You got tattoos,” he notices, frowning.

“Oh, yeah,” Newt remembers, glancing down at his left arm, where he has the outline of the planned image. He tugs at the leather wristband he’s wearing, making sure the thick band covers his wrist totally. 

“What is that?”

“Oh, it’s, uh, kaiju,” he admits, smiling ruefully. “My own design.”

Hermann doesn’t say anything in response. His mouth tightens and he looks down at the ground again, posture stiff, expression angry. Newt, startled, stares at him questioningly. _What did I do now?_ he wonders. 

The kettle whistles at last, and a few moments later Hermann is handing him a mug. He can only carry one mug at a time now, Newt can’t help but observe. He has to make two trips to give Newt his mug and to retrieve his own from the counter before he can sit down, as far away on the couch as possible. He maybe sighs a little bit when he sits. From pain? Fuck. He feels like he should stop noticing stuff like this. To stop himself from staring, or even looking in Hermann’s general direction, he drops his gaze to the tea and blows on it with great concentration, then carefully takes a sip. 

He forgot how good Hermann’s tea is. It’s fucking amazing, just like always, and with the flavor comes a hundred memories. An incredible sadness washes over him as the warmth soaks down his chest. If he messes this up, he’ll never get to drink Hermann’s tea again. This could be his last cup ever. And he thinks, too, of Hermann sitting alone in his apartment, this last summer, drinking tea all by himself. That’s Newt’s fault, all of it is. He has to fix it. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he tastes this tea. 

He says, “Hermann-“ at the same time that Hermann says “About yesterday-“ They both stop talking and glance at each other, eyes meeting for a moment, and then Hermann drops his gaze. He fiddles his hands in his lap again. Newt imagines reaching out and putting his hands over Hermann’s, to try and stop this obvious show of anxiety. Instead he cups his hands over the warm mug. He recognizes this mug. It has a chip on the mouth from when he dropped it, sometime in February.

Newt is still a little afraid of what Hermann has to say, but he takes strength from Hermann’s earlier denial of hating him and decides to go ahead and say, “You go first.” Hermann looks so anxious. It’s probably better to let him get his bit out first. And, he reasons, if he says that he never wants to see Newt again, then Newt is saved some embarrassing words.

Hermann clears his throat uncomfortably. “Um, yesterday, I…I was, um, too harsh. On you. I feel like I should, er, apologize…you, you startled me and I reacted badly. I, I didn’t mean to be that…” he waves a hand vaguely in the air. “Rude, I suppose.”

Part of Newt’s brain thinks that rude is not really the right word. That was not what Newt would call _rude_. The rest of him is busy being amazed at what he just heard. Hermann apologizing? That’s like the opposite of what he was expecting. Hermann never apologizes. Well, Newt thinks, he didn’t exactly apologize here either, just said that he thought he should, but that is still fucking amazing for Hermann and way more than Newt deserves. 

Realizing suddenly that he should respond, he says hastily, “No, man, I, I deserved it, I know that.” Hermann looks at his lap and nods once stiffly. He doesn’t say anything more. 

“…is that what you wanted to say?” Newt asks hesitantly, hope starting to spark. If that is really all Hermann had to say…well, that’s pretty fucking decent. Way better than being told to fuck off forever. Maybe everything isn’t as ruined as Newt thought. 

Hermann nods again and says simply, “Yes.” 

“Oh.” Newt leans back against the wall and restrains himself from adding, _cool_. That’s probably not appropriate in this situation. 

“…and you?” Hermann prompts, sounding as if the words are utterly against his will. 

“Oh, yeah.” Newt recalls that he is the one that came here and started this conversation. He should probably say stuff too. “Um.” The relief over Hermann’s friendliness - as compared to yesterday - has scattered the words he so carefully prepared this morning. 

Hermann glances at him and raises an expectant eyebrow, and Newt again feels that wave of, he’s not sure what to call it, nostalgia maybe. Fondness. Wanting. Wanting this, wanting to sit with Hermann and talk to him and drink his tea and have Hermann lift his eyebrows at the dumb shit Newt says. Wanting Hermann. Fuck, he misses Hermann so much. How can you miss a person that’s right there?

Newt decides to simply plunge in. _Start talking and the words will come_ , he reasons. “Um, yeah, yesterday, um, I know you said that you didn’t want to hear my, uh, apologies, and I get that, I do, but I just wanted to tell you that I know that I really, really, _really_ fucked up. I know that. And I know that I’m all, um, arrogant or whatever, but I was wrong, I know I was wrong. I made a really stupid choice. And I hurt you. And I really fucking regret that, Hermann, I would never hurt you on purpose, I’m so sor- Um. Fuck. I just really regret causing you pain.”

He’s talking way too fast, he knows that, but he can’t quite stop. He starts out the speech looking at Hermann, but he drops his gaze at some point and then he’s afraid to look at him again. Better to just get this over. God, his voice is starting to crackle. He swore to himself that he wasn’t going to cry this time. He’s not going to cry. He cried enough yesterday to last him the whole year. He’s cried enough this past year to last him a whole decade. _Has Hermann cried over all this?_ he wonders suddenly, then veers away from that thought process. That is no way to avoid crying. 

These thoughts flicker by in a second, just long enough for him to take a few short breathes and continues as Hermann sits in silence. “And I know you probably don’t want to even fucking deal with me anymore, but, um, like I said yesterday, I want to try and, and, make up for what I’ve done. And I don’t know how to make it better, but I, just, please let me try, Hermann. Because I, I missed you so much, and, I can’t stand that things are like this between us. I made a stupid, selfish mistake, and, and you got hurt, and now everything is, it’s so messed up, and…I hate that it’s like this. I hate that you’re upset and that I can’t- I can’t fix it. I can’t fix it but maybe I can help. I can, I can be there for you. In whatever way you want. Um, yeah, I, I meant to say that, I’m not expecting it to be at all like it was before. There’s - I’m not that - yeah. I know it can’t be the same. But we were friends before, Hermann, for a while, and I - I’d really like to, to do that. If you’re okay with it. And, if you tell me to just fuck off, I’ll do that too, I promise I will. Or- or whatever. I’ll do, I’ll do whatever you want. So, um. Please.”

He stops short at last, breathing quickly. He’s not sure how coherent any of that was. His eyes are prickling and his jaw aches from the effort of holding in tears, but he isn’t crying this time. That’s something at least. He forces himself to look at Hermann at last. 

Hermann hasn’t moved a centimeter throughout that whole speech. He is frozen in the same position, even his hands still now, wrapped around the mug, clutching it tightly between his legs, eyes locked on it. His shoulders are hunched defensively. The whole position looks so tense and stiff that Newt finds himself aching in sympathy. 

“So,” Hermann starts slowly, voice so quiet that Newt can only hear him because of how utterly silent it is in the apartment, “you want to…make-up…because _you_ feel bad over how things are?”

Newt is on his feet without realizing he’s moved, his jacket slipping unnoticed over his legs to the floor. “No!” he cries. “No, I- Hermann-“ Hermann glances up at him, face expressionless, eyes dark and empty. It shouldn’t be like that. They shouldn’t be like that. He has brown eyes, but they aren't usually dark. His eyes are bright, they glow, with all the cleverness and brilliance and spark he has in that beautiful mind of his, and his eyes shouldn’t be dark like this. Newt wants to make them shine again. He wants to see Hermann’s beautiful eyes shine again. So he admits, “You know what, yes, that’s not all of it, but that is part of it, Hermann! I’m selfish, Hermann, I’m always selfish, you know that, and your happiness has come to matter to mine, so now I’m selfishly asking you to let me try and make up for what I did. Let me make you feel better, because _I feel awful and so do you_.”

Neither moves, or even breathes, for a long moment after Newt falls silent. Their eyes lock, and Newt’s heart pounds unevenly as he waits for Hermann to shout at him, or, worse, for his eyes to go even darker and emotionlessly reject him. Finally, Hermann lets out a breath, and something flickers in his eyes. It’s not light, exactly, and it certainly isn’t a happy expression, but it’s something, and Newt dares to hope again.

Hermann drops his gaze again to his untouched mug of tea, and mutters, “You don’t really want that.”

“Yes, I do,” Newt says fiercely. 

“I’m really fucked up, Newt, and half the time I hate you, and the other half of the time I just don’t know how I feel. I don’t need you, and I’m really fucked up, and you should just leave me alone.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Newt…”

“What do _you_ want, Hermann?” he asks softly, bending over slightly to try and see Hermann’s face. He wants to sit next to him on the couch, but even though he thinks that Hermann is starting to gentle toward him, he’s pretty sure that would be too far. 

Hermann lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs his face. “I don’t _know_ ,” he hisses, sounding angry about that. “I don’t know what I want these days, I don’t know how I feel, _I don’t know_.”

“Then…why don’t you let me stay, until you do know?” Newt offers hesitantly. “If you decide that what you want is me gone, then I’ll leave you alone forever, but until then…can we just be friends?”

Hermann looks at him again. Newt smiles cautiously. “Please?” he asks, doing his best to be cute, but not aggressively so. 

“I- I do miss you,” Hermann admits, in a tiny, vulnerable whisper. 

Newt’s smile vanishes. “I miss you too, Hermann,” he mumbles. “So fucking much.” 

Hermann nods. “Okay. Um. Yeah. Okay.”

“Really?” Newt breathes.

“It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you,” Hermann says, face hardening. “Or that it’s okay. Or that I’m not angry. But- I - don’t want to miss you anymore.”

Newt nods earnestly. “Thank you,” he says passionately. “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

“I already kind of do,” Hermann mutters.

Newt beams at him. There’s a stupid part of him that would really like to say, _I love you, Hermann_. Not even in a passionate sort of way, but casually and meaningfully, simply because he is relieved and he won’t have to stay away from Hermann anymore and because he loves him. He loves Hermann, of course he does, he still absolutely loves Hermann. But he knows that there’s no way that would be appropriate at this juncture, so instead he says, “Thanks,” again. And then, because now is a time to think purely of what Hermann wants, and because Hermann once again looks exhausted, he says softly, "Do you want me to just leave you alone for now?". There is a flash of gratitude in Hermann’s eyes when he looks at Newt, and he nods.

“Bye Hermann,” he says, standing by the door and smiling at him. “Thanks for…listening to me, and stuff. And, um, I really am sorry.”

“Bye, Newt.”

Newt grins even more when he realizes he can add, “See you around.” Hermann doesn’t smile back, but Newt thinks that maybe his face lightens a bit in response. 

He grins as he walks down the stairs, and he smiles as the cold air of the street hits his face, but he’s barely half way through the drive home before the expression has slid off his face. It’s not that he isn’t happy still, he is, he truly truly is, but he’s remembering now the darker side of things. Hermann’s limp is first and foremost, closely followed by the unhappiness in his face. _A car crash_. That’s all the detail that Hermann told him, but there must be more. Tendo refused to give him details yesterday.

Thinking of Tendo reminds him that his phone is off. When he gets to his building, he parks his car and then slips his cell out of his pocket, taking off one glove so that he can turn it on and use it. It immediately starts buzzing angrily in his hands, loading an improbable amount of texts. “Jesus, Tendo,” Newt mutters, frowning at the phone. He supposes he better call, at the very least to stop Tendo from texting him anymore. Reluctantly, he pulls up Tendo’s information. 

“Newt, what the fuck!” Tendo snaps the instant he picks up.

“You were wrong,” Newt tells him, smirking. 

“Wha? Newt- Did you talk to him? I _told_ you-“

“I did, and it went fine. Well, mostly. Ish. Fine-ish. I mean, he said we can be friends at least.”

“What? _Really_?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Shit,” Tendo mutters over the line. “I wasn’t expecting that…”

“Gee, thanks…”

“Not that I’m not pleased!” Tendo clarifies hastily. “I’m just…startled. He seemed really...messed up yesterday. I didn’t think he was in the right frame of mind to listen to you…” Newt can practically hear Tendo shrug. “Well, I’m glad to be wrong.”

“It’s not like everything is totally fixed,” Newt admits. “But I think…I think he’s giving me a second chance.”

Tendo pauses, then says, “You need to be careful, Newt.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Hermann is really…he’s not in a good place right now, Newt. More than you realize. I think more than I realize, and I know that I know more of it than you-“

“Then _tell_ me!” Newt interrupts impatiently. The thought of Tendo knowing more than him, particularly in this circumstance, itches under his skin. 

“I think it’s better to leave that to Hermann,” Tendo says gently. “I’m just saying, Hermann is fucked up, and if you’re not careful you could make that way worse. You need to - you need to really mean it this time, Newt. If you’re gonna leave like last time, then you should do it now, because if you wait and let Hermann start to trust you again, then I think you could really, really fuck him up. And you definitely won't get a third chance. He needs - what he needs right now is someone that will just be there, I think. And it would be really good if that was you, but you have to commit, okay? And, Newt, really, if I don’t think that you can do that I _will_ interfere. You’re my friend, but Hermann is too, and I’m not gonna let you fuck him over. Can I trust you?”

“Of course!” Newt says, angry. “I’m not that much of an asshole, Jesus!”

“You left before.”

“That’s _different_ -“

“Why? Prove to me how it’s different, Newt.”

“It’s different because- because- because I’m selfish.”

“What?”

“I’m selfish, you know I am, I’m really fucking selfish, and now I know how much it sucks to not have Hermann around. I didn’t know that before, but now I’ve spent - fuck, nearly a year now - without him, and I hated it! I was miserable and lonely and, I dunno, bored, and I’m selfish, so now that I have a chance to get him back I’m not gonna fuck it up, I’m not gonna hurt him, I’m not gonna leave this time, because fucking him over would fuck me over too and I’m too selfish to do that.”

A thoughtful silence fills the line, and then Tendo says softly, “Yeah. That’s fair. Okay. I believe you.”

“Oh. So…are we cool?”

“…yeah. Okay…but seriously Newt, if you fuck up, I’m gonna kick your ass so hard.”

Newt can tell that Tendo is joking, but only partially. And...well, Tendo always worries about the people he cares for way too much, but he doesn't worry without reason. “Tendo,” he says, filled with uncertainty. “…is Hermann okay? I mean, he’s upset, that makes sense, but…is he _okay_?”

“…I’m not sure, really.”

Newt sighs and nods, even though Tendo can’t see him. “Okay," he breathes. Okay. Maybe Hermann isn't okay right now, but Newt will make sure he gets there, if it's the last thing he does. Hermann is gonna be okay, and so is Newt, and they are going to be okay together. Anything else would be...he can't imagine it. It hurts too much. Hermann has to be okay. He will be. 

He ends the call with Tendo. He's still sitting in his slowly cooling car. It's starting to snow again. He rolls his left sleeve up, looking at the leather wristband he wears there. It totally covers the inside of his wrist. He unbuckles it so that the small tattoo below it is visible, the pink cartoon axolotl smiling up at him. 

" _Remember that you love me and that you're mine._ " That's what Hermann said, that day.

"I will," Newt promises to the axolotl. "I'll remember this time."


	5. Your Scars Are Healing Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author leads a Chuck Hansen appreciation life, and Chuck Hansen leads a Hermann Gottlieb (and Mako Mori and giant robots) appreciation life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from One More Time With Feeling by Regina Spektor  
> This chapter was hard to write, so I want to dedicate it to everyone that came and encouraged me on tumblr. It really helps me a lot to be scolded a little! (but gently b/c seriously I am a delicate flower.) If I ever take too long again, then please do come ( _gently_ ) yell at me on tumblr! Thank you all so much! Sorry for making you wait for a short chapter!
> 
> Notes: The Chakogo thing is just me applying my (incredibly limited) knowledge of Japanese. _Go_ is a suffix that means language, so Chakogo is just the language of Chako - which is me squishing Chuck and Mako's names together.   
>  Also, the part where they are texting...please imagine that Newt is using the iphone's emoji app instead of actually typing out those emoticons. I didn't even want to mess around with trying to format those in.

January 17, 2014

Hermann can’t work at Striker these days as a barista - he simply can’t stay standing that long - but he resumed tutoring Chuck and Mako, every Friday. It’s one of the few things he still takes real enjoyment from. It’s incredible how much Mako’s English has improved - and, oddly, how good Chuck has gotten at Japanese. Neither are quite fluent in their new languages, but skilled enough that they can perfectly communicate with each other, at least, in a peculiar mixture of English and Japanese. Herc has taken to calling their strange language Chako, which Mako altered to Chakogo; Hermann’s not entirely sure why.

Possibly there are also some German curse words in there. Hermann keeps forgetting to not swear in front of them. Herc and Stacker fortunately don’t seem to realize that the words are not entirely appropriate, and he’s made Chuck and Mako promise to not tell Herc and Stacker in exchange for him teaching them more German words. Those ones are _not_ curse words, but more useful things like ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and, well, he’s not sure how ‘ _jaeger_ ’ came up, but it did, and they both use that word more than he would have expected. 

He arrives slightly before the kids return from school. The smell of coffee floods his nose, and he takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders. Being in Striker always calms him, somehow, even though he finds that he misses working behind the counter. Honestly, he hated having to interact with people and pretend to be friendly, so it’s peculiar that he’s nostalgic for the job. It’s probably more of a general longing for a time when things were less screwed up. 

Herc is working at the counter, and he smiles slightly and nods when Hermann comes in and sits in his customary corner. “How’ve ya been?” he asks, as he does every week, and Hermann responds “Fine,” as he always does. God, he really gets tired of people asking him how he is. At least Herc does it in a much less intrusive way than, say, Tendo. Stacker pretty much never asks, which has done a good deal to endear him to Hermann. 

Today, Herc frowns, looks at him more closely, and says, a little too casually, “You look kind of tired. You okay?”

He must look awful this week. In the last two or three days it has been remarked upon repeatedly by a variety of people. For Herc, who really does seem to respect privacy and doesn’t care much for niceties, to ask, it must really be noticeable. _Damn_ Newt. 

Damn. Maybe he should have just told Newt to get the fuck out yesterday. Yes, he really should have done that. Goddammit. Why didn’t he?

“Long week,” Hermann answers shortly. 

“Yeah? School getting you down?”

“No, it’s fine, I just…” He glances at Herc thoughtfully, and says with careful carelessness, “I ran into Newt.” He intently gauges Herc’s reaction. He respects his opinion, and he’s still unsure of what to do about Newt, so if Herc obviously reacts one way or another, that might help him decide.

Herc stops what he was doing - washing dishes, a mug in one hand and a dishcloth in the other, the domestic objects looking more natural in his grip than one might expect of a six foot ex-military officer - and raises his eyebrows. “Oh,” he says, looking at Hermann thoughtfully. Hermann’s disappointed at the neutral reaction. “And how was that?”

Hermann shrugs stiffly. “It was…” _Fine_ is his automatic response, but is probably not the most accurate description, at least not for the first encounter _or_ the first proper conversation. The second conversation wasn’t so bad, even though Hermann still catches himself wondering why the hell he said they could try being friends. He hadn’t been planning to say that. “…not bad,” he says instead. That’s not that accurate either. Making Newt cry was definitely bad. 

“Will we be seeing Geiszler around here, then?” Herc asks, weighing the words cautiously. Hermann wonders if it’s meant to be a tactful way of asking whether they got back together or if Hermann told him to go fuck himself.

“I…I don’t know about that,” Hermann says quietly. Herc nods and doesn’t push any farther. 

“S’probably best,” he says instead, resuming his dishwashing. “Chuck’d probably rip his face off the instant he saw him. And I’m sure Mako’d be willing to help, and she’s a little spitfire.”

“Newt wouldn’t stand a chance,” Hermann agrees, mouth twitching. Herc grins proudly.

The kids troop in soon after that. The school bus stops closer to Striker than to either Herc or Stacker’s homes, so they usually come to the café after school and wait until Herc is free to take them home. He only recently agreed, with great reluctance, that they could be left alone for a few hours. He still doesn’t entirely trust Chuck to not burn down the house, he muttered to Hermann once. Most days it doesn’t take long for Herc to be free, as he has come to trust Yancy Becket, the part-timer, enough to leave him alone with the store for a short amount of time, but Fridays are Becket’s off day. So it had been decided that was as good a day as any for the kids to be tutored.

Chuck has been doing much better this year - amazingly so in math and science - and Mako doesn’t so much need help with doing the problems as with _understanding_ them, and for the most part she can handle that on her own. They’re both extremely clever children. Hermann suspects that they don’t need to be tutored anymore. But when he tried to tell Herc this, the man waved him off and assured him that Chuck, at least, was only doing so much better due to his influence. Hermann didn’t really believe this, but he accepted it without arguing. He really does like tutoring them, and if he wasn’t doing that, he wouldn’t really have an excuse to come to Striker as often. And…he would miss Chuck. And Mako too, and Herc and Stacker as well. 

He should stop attaching himself to strange people he meets in cafés. It’s stupid that nearly everyone that is important in his life right now, he’s met at this café. He suddenly hears his father saying “ _A café, Hermann, really?_ ” with such utter disdain, and thinks _shut UP_ savagely. 

Chuck and Mako are chattering excitedly to each other in their strange language, arguing from the sounds of it. They are usually arguing. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether they hate each other or like each other more. From Hermann’s experience, that’s how sibling relationships usually go, and the two of them have undeniably formed a brother-sister bond. 

“Hi, Hermann!” Chuck pauses long enough to say, his scowling face of a moment ago replaced by a bright smile. He’s like that - he flashes in an instant from one mood to another. Hermann tries to smile back. He’s not sure how convincing it is. Sometimes it feels oddly like he’s forgotten how to genuinely smile. 

Hermann asks them how their day was, and the children enthusiastically talk over each other about their latest escapades. Chuck is less of a troublemaker these days, but he still certainly gets into things, as does Mako. Chuck is willing to do just about anything she says, and some of the scrapes that Chuck and Mako get into seem a little too complex and well-planned for the reckless boy. That prank they pulled on the Wei triplets the other day…there’s no way Chuck thought that up. His style is more to throw punches than to plot a gradual revenge. Hermann strongly suspects that Mako is the ringleader of the two of them. But Mako probably keeps Chuck in line as much as she gets him into trouble, so it’s a fair trade-off. And it’s irrefutable that Chuck is a much more cheerful and friendly boy than the silent, sullen boy Hermann met in his early days of working here - and the change isn’t just in Chuck, either. Mako is also friendlier and less withdrawn than when she and Chuck first became friends. 

They strap down to work after that, the children restlessly working at their homework and Hermann, for the most part, quietly observing. He normally has an easy time focusing on this sort of thing, but today he finds his mind drifting. 

It’s Newt’s birthday the day after tomorrow. What the hell is Hermann supposed to do about that? Does he ignore it, does he casually acknowledge it, does he wait for Newt to bring it up, what? Part of him wants to be spiteful and disregard it, as revenge for his own unacknowledged birthday, but the more moral parts of him insist that’s too cruel. 

Last year this was so much easier. They’d already been going out nearly a month, he knew, at least generally, what to do. And, yes, admittedly that didn’t go well and things did not go as planned, but that was not Hermann’s fault.

Fuck, he can’t believe it’s been so long now. He’s known Newt more than a year. The memory of Newt’s birthday, a whole year ago, sits hollowly in his mind, more like something that he read in a book than something that actually happened to him. Memories from before that day in August are strangely disconnected from who he is now, particularly the ones relating to the…break up. The emotional suffering he went through that day and that summer seem superficial when compared to the actual physical pain of his broken bones and damaged nerve. 

But on the other hand, that emotional hurt is strangely and intimately related to the car accident, so tangled up together that he’s not sure he stands a chance of unwrapping it. It became hard to discern one kind of pain from another, and as he was busy being angry at the world for hurting him like this, he might as well be angry at Newt too. And the anger and the pain bled together and now he can’t tell what emotions and injuries come from which source, and which are healed and which are still raw and open. He's made out of scars these days, scars on top of scars on top of damaged nerves. It’s all…stupidly complicated. 

He sighs, and tries to stop worrying about things like this. Every time he does he gets angry all over again. _Damm_ it, it really was a terrible idea to agree to being friends with Newt. But the thing is, if he texted Newt right this second and said something like _I never want to see you again_ or maybe the simpler and more satisfying _fuck off forever_ , Newt would probably do that - he said he would yesterday, and there was a sincerity in his face that Hermann believes. Newt would go, and Hermann pictures that and feels an ache in his heart like an echo of how he felt that day on the bench. He could tell Newt to go, he probably should tell Newt to go, but -

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to never see Newt again. What he wants, really, is stop being so angry at him - and at everything. He wants things to be good and easy again. What he wants, is for Newt to have not left in the first place. 

“Hermann?” Chuck says, interrupting his thoughts. He looks at Hermann with a small frown. 

“Oh, yes?” he responds, sitting up straighter and trying to hide that he wasn’t paying attention. 

“Um…can you check my work?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermann says, sliding Chuck’s worksheet across the table and scanning Chuck’s calculations. He has surprisingly neat handwriting. “This all looks great,” Hermann says approvingly. “Really, I don’t think you two need me at all anymore.”

Chuck’s head jerks up. “That’s not true!” he squeaks. “I - we need you!”

“You’re doing really well on your own, both of you are-”

“That is because Chuck wants to make Hermann happy,” Mako says firmly. 

“Mako!” Chuck hisses, turning red. “Shut _up_!”

“What?” Hermann says blankly. 

“Chuck wants to make Hermann smile by doing good - well? - in school,” Mako explains, ignoring Chuck. 

“Th-that’s - not true-“

“It’s true!” Mako insists, turning a glare on him. “You tell me that!” 

“Y-yeah, but don’t tell _him_ that!” 

“Chuck - is that - is that true?” Hermann asks disbelievingly. 

Chuck turns absolutely scarlet and mutters, “Well - you were kinda - lately - so I just wanted to - I dunno - m-make you proud. O-or something.”

“Oh,” is all Hermann can say at first. Is this why Herc said it was because of him that Chuck is doing better at school? He glances over at Herc, and sure enough the man is smirking slightly and pretending to ignore them. “Chuck- that’s - Um. That’s very nice of you. Um. Thank you.” 

Is ‘thank you’ really the most appropriate thing to say? He’s not sure of how to respond to this. Chuck was working extra hard in school to please him? That’s just - very sweet. But what an extremely odd child - Hermann is only ever grumpy and prickly, and he knows that’s been worse lately, so _why_ is Chuck so fond of him? To the extent that he would put extra effort into classes that he doesn’t particularly enjoy! Hermann doesn’t understand children. Or human beings in general.

He feels that he ought to add, “But you really should do well in school for your own sake, not mine…” and then when Chuck looks a little chastised by this, clarifies, “N-not that I’m not pleased, of course I am. Really, you - you needn’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

Chuck blushes and falls silent, and Hermann thinks that’s the end of that. But then Chuck says very quietly, “You just never smile anymore.”

The words hit him hard in the chest. He’s breathless for a moment, and certainly wordless. It’s - it’s certainly true, he knows that. He never was a person to smile that much, and since everything that happened last summer…he’s been _trying_ , he has, he’s really been trying, but it’s been so goddamn _hard_ …Shit. It’s terrible to know that it’s so noticeable. That isn’t how Chuck meant it, he’s sure, but it’s painful to realize that other people are aware of how false his smiles are these days. It feels stupidly like a criticism - which _of course_ is not how Chuck means it. But Hermann really feels as if he should be stronger than this. He should be doing better. He should be handling this better. He should be happier by now.

“I just…want to see you smile again,” Chuck says, even more softly, so that it’s barely audible. Mako nods in agreement, watching both of them anxiously. 

Hermann looks down at his hands, folded on the metallic table. “I’ll try my best,” he promises, his voice coming out husky. 

As the kids, rather subdued now, get back to work, Hermann resolves to wish Newt a happy birthday tomorrow. Just a short text message or something, nothing fancy. He did decide to let Newt back into his life, he might as well commit to it. In a cautious manner, of course, because Newt has shown himself to be the sort of person that can abruptly choose to fuck off to fucking Germany and no way in hell is Hermann getting hurt over that again. No way in hell is he giving Newt that much power over him again. But…friends. He can do friends. And the truth is that Newt was always better at making him smile than anyone else he knows, and it would…it would be nice to smile again. 

 

The day after next, he waits until sometime in the mid-afternoon, and then texts, with as much seeming casualness as he can manage, _Happy Birthday_.

Newt texts back, nearly immediately, _omg u txted me holy shit :D_ and then _shit i didnt mean to send that please ignore it omg_ and then _wait is it my birthday today omg i forgot wtf_. These texts all come in quick succession, each new one coming nearly before Hermann has had time to read the following one.

“Idiot,” he mutters, shaking his head, and then freezes, one hand going to his mouth, fingers lightly brushing across where the corners of his lips are slightly quirked up. It’s not a smile, not quite but…it’s damn closer than he’s been in months. “Stupid fucker,” he adds, the almost smile dying almost as soon as it is born. How is it that fucking easy for Newt? Bastard. Swanning into Hermann’s life and effortlessly making him smile - almost smile - when Hermann’s been uselessly trying to remember how for a quarter of a year. This is so bloody typical, Newt sets out to do something and it just fucking _happens_ for him; one second he’s here, the next halfway across the ocean because he decided he wanted to do it-

His phone dings again. The sound it makes these days is kind of odd, more of a crackle than a ding, but it serves. This time the text reads, _thnx Hermann <3_, closely followed by _OH GOD I MEANT TO PUT A SMILEY I SWEAR THE HEART AND SMILE ARE CLOSE TOGETHER ON THIS EMOTICON APP SORRY IM SO STUPID_.

Hermann sighs. Newt is an _idiot_. Such a fucking idiot. _Like hell are the heart and smile close together_ , he thinks. He probably typed the heart out of habit or something. Hermann's mental rant of a moment ago is effortlessly broken, a near smile touching his lips again. He’s really so fucking stupid. 

He decides to torture Newt just the tiniest bit by waiting a few hours before texting back, _You’re welcome_ and absolutely not acknowledging the heart emoticon in any way. He hopes Newt is agonizing over that mistake the whole time, and this hope is proven true when Tendo later texts him, _ur evil as fuck <3_. 

He nearly smiles again as he texts back, _I have no idea what you’re talking about_ \- he’s going to run out of texts soon at this rate -and thinks that this smiling thing might be easier than expected. Chuck will be pleased. Or perhaps not, because Chuck would probably rather that it wasn’t Newt making Hermann smile.

Oh dear, he’s going to be very upset when - if, Hermann firmly corrects himself - _if_ he finds out that Newt and Hermann are being friends - or whatever it is they're doing. He really might try and physically assault Newt - who, Hermann has to admit, would utterly deserve it. But they have been trying so hard to teach Chuck that violence is not a good solution. 

But god, Newt would really deserve it. Hermann decides he might let Chuck try and scratch Newt’s eyes out a little bit. But only a little, as Newt does have rather nice eyes.   
_Absolutely do NOT think that sort of thing_ , Hermann admonishes himself fiercely. _Do not think about nice eyes or nice hair or nice freckles or nice ass or god his ass really is nice STOP IT_. 

Friendship is okay. He can handle friendship, but not more than that. He really - he really can’t do that again. He can’t love Newt again - did he ever stop? - he can’t let Newt have that much influence on him. He can’t. He simply can’t bear to be left again, and he knows now that Newt is the sort of person that leaves. And honestly, Hermann doesn’t want any romantic relationships with anyone right now - or maybe ever. 

Friendship. Just friendship. _Only_ friendship. That’s all. Smiley faces, not heart emoticons, that’s all he wants from Newt, that’s all he’ll _accept_ from Newt, and as long as Newt understands that, everything ought to be okay. Hermann really wants everything to be okay again. 

He doesn't want to be made of only scars. He doesn't want to be unable to remember how to smile.


	6. Would You Just Let Me Know How

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules are made to broken, only some of them shouldn't be broken, and how are you supposed to tell which are which?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Blame it on the Tetons by Modest Mouse (see I don't just listen to pop music and tegan and sara)
> 
> I've really been writing more slowly lately, which is weird since I'm on break and have lots more time to write. I dunno, I just really haven't been feeling it lately. So, um...yeah. I don't know what else to tell ya. Hopefully I'll get back in the groove soon. Thanks for sticking with me :)

January 20 - February 11, 2014

Newt and Hermann cautiously begin interacting more over the next few weeks, usually in ways that don’t leave them alone in private places, often with Tendo involved - and Newt tries his best to not feel jealous of how close Tendo and Hermann seem to have become. But seriously, how the fuck did that happen? Tendo kinda shrugs vaguely and smiles when Newt asks him, and Newt isn’t really up to asking Hermann that yet.

It’s often still awkward between them - more awkward than not awkward. Newt is frequently reminded that although they were friends before, they were a couple for much longer. Even when they were friends, he kinda wanted to fuck Hermann. So now, Newt is often unsure of how to go about being friends with Hermann. And Hermann still often becomes abruptly angry with him, and a lot of their interactions either end in Hermann shouting at him or simply leaving without a word. When he's really upset he starts yelling in German. Somehow, though, Newt thinks that things are becoming better, and that the tension is starting to ease. The times where they part amiably are slowly starting to outnumber the times where Hermann storms off, and he begins to look at Newt without regret or doubt.

Part of this may be due to Hermann quietly establishing rules. Newt doesn’t remark upon it, and Hermann never explicitly says that they are _rules_ , but Newt knows him well enough to know that is what Hermann is doing. And Newt has been a rule breaker since way back, since he was told to not climb a certain tumbled down hill in the neighborhood, and promptly waited only long enough for his uncle to be out of sight before he attempted to scale it. He broke his arm, but the habit of defiance was upon him after that. Newt sees a rule and he instantly wants to break it. But these rules, Hermann’s rules, Newt follows them. Climbing that hill as a kid, he didn’t care if he fell as his uncle warned him he would, he didn’t care if he got caught and sent to his room, or whatever the punishment would be. In school he never feared detention or suspension, in jobs he didn’t care if he got fired, in apartments he didn’t mind being tossed out. Always before, doing what he wanted and having his freedom outweighed the consequences. But this time, as he constantly reminds himself, if he pushes the rules too far, he might break something far more important than his arm. He could really lose Hermann forever - and, he sometimes thinks, he could hurt Hermann even worse than he already has, and that is far more important. These rules are worth following.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t chafe at them sometimes. And he certainly does try to push - gently. Very gently. He’s checking how far Hermann will let him go at that particular moment in their relationship, trying to carefully find the moment where it becomes too much and then to stop _before_ that. Newt reasons, as he always has, that if he doesn’t push a little, nothing will ever change. And Newt likes for things to change. 

 

**Don’t call him by his nickname.**

The very first rule, the one that burns itself into Newt’s memory and that he will never break unless Hermann explicitly gives him permission to, is to not call him ‘Herm.’ That first meeting - when that nickname naturally slipped out - and Hermann said - 

“ _Don’t fucking call me that._ ”

And the words had been like knives, each syllable edged with saw teeth, biting into Newt’s heart. He’d been holding himself together under Hermann’s rage until that, and then the broken anger in his voice had brought tears to Newt’s eyes instantly. It had become clear, in that instant, how much he’d fucked up and how much he’d hurt Hermann. That hurt more than anything, that he had hurt Hermann that badly.

He won’t forget that one, and he finds himself doubting that this first rule is one that he’ll ever be allowed to break. 

 

**Don’t act romantic. Don’t ask him if he’s okay.**

The Monday after their tentative reunion, Newt invites Hermann to go see _The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug_ with him; Hermann’s reaction to that makes the second rule become clear. His eyes widen and then narrow, an edge of unfamiliar panic in them, and his mouth narrows into a thin, angry line. He actually shakes a finger in Newt’s face. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, but I’m not interested in resuming our previous…romantic relationship, so if this is meant to be some sort of repeat of our date last year - I really don’t - maybe it’s best we don’t-“

“No, no no no!” Newt interrupts hastily, holding his hands up before him pacifyingly. “I - I wasn’t even thinking of that - I meant you and me and Tendo! As friends! Because I haven’t seen it yet and I want to see it before it goes out of theater - Not a date, totally not, you made yourself clear on that before!”

Hermann scans his face, clearly looking for any signs of falsehood - and for once Newt is grateful to be a terrible liar, because that means that Hermann will be able to easily tell now that he _isn't_ lying - and gradually he relaxes, at least a little. “Tendo will be there too?” he asks suspiciously.

“Yeah, dude, he’s seen it like fifty times already because he’s got a huge crush on Thranduil and he wanted to see it again…” Newt says. 

Hermann is still frowning, but after a long pause he nods reluctantly and agrees to come. Newt tries to not be depressed that Hermann is only agreeing because Tendo will be there. At least he’ll be there.

For the most part, this first ‘hanging out’ goes well. The only significant event occurs before the movie starts, as Newt is buying his ticket. He’s the last of the three to purchase his ticket, so Tendo and Hermann are standing a bit away, out of Newt’s hearing. He can’t help but notice that they seem to be arguing, particularly as they keep glancing over at Newt. From what he can tell, Tendo is trying to convince Hermann of something, and Hermann is saying no - and looking pissed about it. He walks away from Tendo shortly before Newt joins them, his posture stiff and defensive. 

Newt whispers, “What happened?” to Tendo, but Tendo shrugs lightly with a somewhat annoyed smile on his face and refuses to say anything about it. 

Hermann is still looking angry as they enter the theater, so when Tendo leaves to use the bathroom, Newt leans over and asks, “What’s wrong?”

It’s immediately clear this is a mistake. Hermann snaps, “None of your goddamn business,” and doesn’t even seem to feel embarrassed, as he normally would, when the person sitting in front of them turns around and glares at him. He glares right back. 

Newt subsides quietly back into his chair, and think that’s that, until Hermann suddenly says, “You know, I’m so bloody tired of people asking me what’s wrong or if I’m okay all the damn time. It gets really fucking - oh calm down, mind your own business -“ this aside is to the person sitting in front of them - “really annoying. I’m _fine_. I'm always fine, and what else am I supposed to say anyway, even if I'm not?" He sighs, a sharp exhalation. "I hate people fussing over me all the time.”

With a thoughtful nod, Newt says, “Okay. I can do that.”

“…do what?”

“Stop asking if you’re okay. I’ll never ask, I promise,” Newt says, and adds with a slightly mischievous smile, “Never.”

The surprised but pleased expression that flickers over Hermann’s face makes the whole day worth it, and not-asking-Hermann-if-he’s-okay becomes the third rule. The movie starts a little while later, and Newt smirks as the movie begins. He is, at that moment, confident that he can get Hermann to forgive him in no time. 

This certainty is dampened when he realizes how hard it can be to even do something as simple as not asking Hermann how he is. Hermann mumbles “ow” as they walk out of the theater, rubbing at his thigh, and Newt nearly breaks the rule right there and then. He only stops when Hermann shoots him a suspicious look. And there are other moments, the more they spend time together, when it’s clear that Hermann is in pain or upset, and the question will be on the tip of his tongue, barely bitten back in time. He _worries_. It’s kind of weird, how much he worries about Hermann, and makes him realize how much he used to put himself above other people. It might not be fair to say that he puts Hermann first, because Newt knows enough of automatic biological reactions to know that human beings will always instinctively put themselves first, but Hermann is a damn close second these days. Sometimes he needs to be reassured that Hermann is okay. 

He needs to be reassured, because as many moments as there are where he thinks he'll be back in Hermann's good graces at any second, there at least three times as many moments where he thinks it'll take a damn long time, and twice as many moments where is grimly certain that Hermann is never going to forgive him at all. But this early meeting, he only knows two rules, and he thinks they will be easy to follow. 

 

**Don’t touch him.**

The fourth rule, which is never spoken nor experimented with, is to not touch him. Sometimes when he’s around Hermann it feels like they both must have magnets under their skin with opposite poles facing each other, sometimes he is pulled so hard toward Hermann, sometimes all Newt wants is to take Hermann’s hand or brush his finger over Hermann’s face or press his lips to the tiny lines that are already forming around the corner of his eyes - but he doesn’t. Not ever, not even when Hermann’s particularly beautiful or looks like he’s barely holding himself together. Newt doesn’t need to be told by Hermann that it’s not okay to know it. 

Back - before - Hermann had never explicitly said it, but Newt had noticed how he was quietly physically affectionate with Newt. He hadn’t really been expecting that of the standoffish guy he knew, so of course Newt noticed when Hermann always grabbed his hand or leaned on him or casually brushed up against him. That physical intimacy - it was too important before, to closely linked with their relationship, for Newt to dare try to strike it up again.

He really is dying to touch Hermann. But every time he gets too close, Hermann looks - almost afraid - and Newt thinks that it's not worth it. 

 

**Stop looking at him like that.**

Newt runs into Hermann in between classes - not literally this time, fortunately - and walks with him to his next class. There was a thaw earlier that week, and the snow all melted, only to refreeze when the temperatures abruptly dropped the night before. Most of the sidewalks are salted, but there are still sections coated in ice. 

He’s trying to talk casually, but can’t stop keeping a nervous eye on Hermann the whole time, body stiff in readiness to steady him if he starts to fall. He’s done some reading on nerve damage and, according to the internet, one of the dangers of damaging the nerves in your legs is that you might fall and hurt yourself and not even realize that you’ve done damage because of course the nerve is already damaged and thus not properly reporting information to the brain. He maybe shouldn’t have done research, because now he’s kind of paranoid.

Hermann stops abruptly and glares at him. “What?” Newt asks, instantly alert.

“Stop _looking_ at me like that,” he snaps.

“Wha-“

“You keep looking at me all anxiously like I’m - I’m one of those old people in life alert commercials or something. Stop fussing, all right, I can take of myself! I’m rather good with the cane by now, I’ll have you know, and I don’t need you to worry about me! So just - stop it already!”

“Oh,” Newt says. He scuffs at some salt in the ground. “…was I being that obvious?”

“You’re always fucking obvious, Newt,” Hermann replies, rolling his eyes. “I’ve never met anyone as easy to read as you.”

“Oh. Um. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just _stop_ it already.”

Newt nods and forces his face into something less worried. It must not be a very convincing expression, because Hermann sighs and rolls his eyes again, then resumes walking. Newt tries to be more subtle about watching him, adding that onto his growing internal list, and he does have to admit that Hermann seems to have pretty darn good balance. So that’s kind of a relief actually, although he suspects that not-looking-at-Hermann-like- _that_ might be a hard rule to follow. Now that he's started worrying, he doesn't know how to turn it off. 

 

**Don’t help him.**

Sometimes they study together. Study dates - not that Newt calls it that, ever, pursuant to the don't-act-romantic rule - Study outings seem to appeal to Hermann. They sit in a public place, on opposite sides of a table, and they don't talk. Must be Hermann's ideal way to interact with other people. _That's mean,_ Newt scolds himself. But it's also probably true, especially when it comes to Newt. And Newt likes them too, because it's a good chance to look at Hermann without him noticing that's what Newt is doing. Those shadows under Hermann's eyes are driving him crazy. Is he not sleeping? He remembers from before that Hermann was a restless sleeper, but Jesus, those shadows make it look like he's not sleeping at all...

On this particular day, Tendo and Newt and Hermann are all studying in the library together. Tendo stretches at last and suggests they go for food, and Newt and Hermann both agree. Newt bounces to his feet, eager to leave, but Hermann seems to be having a hard time standing up. They were sitting for a while, so Newt supposes that he probably went stiff or something. Without thinking, he offers Hermann a hand. He knows it’s a mistake even as he does it, and sure enough Hermann reddens and Newt can see Tendo wince in the corner of his vision. 

“I don’t need your help,” he growls, scowling at the table, and hauls himself awkwardly to his feet. Newt clenches his hand into a fist and withdraws it immediately, shoving both hands into his pockets. He starts to apologize, but Hermann walks off before he can, posture ramrod straight. 

“Yeah, don’t help him,” Tendo says brightly.

“I got that,” Newt mutters, feeling like an idiot. 

 

**Don't tell him you love him. Don't cry in front of him.**

That first one just seems self-explanatory. There's no way in hell he's gonna say that, not with things the way they are. What's harder is not asking if Hermann still loves him. The only thing that stills the words is how ungodly terrified Newt is of the answer.

It's gotta be no, of course, but if - when? - Hermann says that to him, he's going to cry. That is absolutely a fact, he _will_ cry. And considering Hermann's reaction to him crying, that time in Starbucks, crying in front of Hermann is definitely a no-go. 

 

**Stop apologizing.**

Sometimes when Hermann gets angry he wordlessly leaves. Sometimes he doesn’t. Hermann had always been a bit short-tempered - so had Newt, for that matter - but he’s definitely gotten touchier. 

They argue, one day, a stupid conversation that starts out friendly and somehow gets sharper and colder until Hermann’s sitting back in his chair, arms folded, glaring at Newt, who imagines that he can see the ice crystals spreading out from him in a circle across every surface. He’s not even entirely sure what he did or said to get Hermann to this point - he'd been on his best behavior. He thinks maybe Hermann just wanted to fight with him, today. 

And Hermann has a billion and a half reasons to be angry with him, and just because he refuses to bring those up most of the time doesn’t mean he’s forgotten them. Hermann’s never liked talking about the things that upset him, Newt knows that - he never got more information out of Hermann about his family than the small summary he gave Newt the day after Christmas, and there were times in the past where if Newt tried to ask him about something he was stressed about then he would simply stop talking. And of course that isn’t the healthiest way ever of dealing with problems, and Newt suspects that, at least partially, the shouting is a result of not being able to release his stress and anger and - all the other complicated stuff he must be feeling - through discussing it. And maybe Newt’s hoping a little bit that if Hermann yells at him enough he’ll work it out of his system - or something. So Newt rubs his right thumb under the wristband covering the tattoo on his left wrist and he sits as still as possible, looking down at the ground, until Hermann pauses and looks at him in a way that seems to be demanding a response.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says simply.

This is clearly the wrong answer. Hermann rolls his eyes and huffs his breath out angrily. “Just- God, stop _apologizing_. Maybe it’s making you feel better, but it’s certainly doing nothing for me.”

“Oh,” Newt says, jerking his head up. “Oh. Uh, course. Sor- um. Yeah. Okay. I’ll…do that.” 

Hermann doesn’t seem entirely pleased by this response either, but he falls quiet, leaning back in his chair and chewing on his lip as if he’d like to say something else. Newt waits patiently - as patiently as he is capable of, and he’s finding out that he’s a lot more patient than he’d realized - not quite daring to prompt him, and in the end Hermann doesn’t say anything more. 

 

 **Do no harm. Just take it when he gets mad.**

He sees Hermann again about two days after that. Hermann shifts guiltily and doesn’t quite meet Newt’s eyes. “I’m, er, sorry for the other day,” he mumbles. 

“What?” Newt says blankly, and then “No! Don’t- It’s fine.”

“I was being kind of an arse-“

“No, dude, no way, s’totally cool. No need to apologize,” Newt insists, and he’s suddenly grateful for quietly bearing Hermann’s anger yesterday and other days too. If Hermann feels bad about that - and how much worse it would have been if Newt had argued back! That surely would have just pissed him off more, and then he’d be feeling even worse now. And Newt’s main doctrine right now is ‘do no harm.’ Maybe he can’t make things better, but he sure as hell is resolved to not make it worse. And if that means not saying a word when Hermann bitches him out, then he’s gonna do that.

Hermann, still looking down, mutters, “I know I keep getting - pissy - lately-“

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Newt says innocently, and a flicker of an expression runs across Hermann’s face, chasing away some of the guilt. He grins and says, “Really, dude, it’s seriously not a big deal. I’ve got thick skin, I can handle it.”

After a long moment, Hermann nods, and his posture relaxes slightly. Newt mentally adds more rules.

 

**Be subtle about taking care of him.**

This one is more Newt’s rule than Hermann’s.

Hermann was always skinny. Newt likes skinny. He liked watching the bones shift subtly under Hermann’s skin when he would walk - especially if he wasn’t wearing clothes, which Newt tried to make was true as often as possible - and he liked skimming his hands across narrow hips and pale ribs and feel the hard bone just below the soft skin. He liked Hermann’s long thin fingers and slim legs and elegant cheekbones. 

But he was _healthy_ before - and Newt hates that as an argument for deciding what weight people should be, but this is _different_ and has nothing to do with aesthetics - he may have been underweight and he did skip meals more often than Newt approved of, but he was still at the weight he was naturally supposed to be at. It’s different now, and he worries about how skinny Hermann is. It’s winter, and he always did get cold so easily, so he most of the time he’s wearing heavy sweaters and baggy pants and concealing much of his body, but Newt is sure that those sweaters hang on him more loosely than they used to. His cheeks are kind of hollow, not so much in a model way, more in a recently-been-ill-and-lost-lots-of-weight-way. Newt is certain that he must have lost weight, more than is healthy for him. He’s like a cat, he stops eating when he’s stressed or ill. 

He’s also certain that if he mentions this to Hermann he will instantly get his head bitten off. So when he decides to try and do something about it, he also has to figure out how to be subtle. 

One method is simply taking him out to dinner and treating him. But the whole don’t-be-romantic thing kinda screws with that. Turns out it’s really hard to take your attractive friend that you used to fuck out to dinner alone without it seeming hella gay. And if he brings Tendo along, than he either has to treat Tendo too - Newt’s not _made_ of money - or have it be noticeable that he’s only treating Hermann. So that plan only works if he takes him to cheap restaurants, and then Hermann always ends up getting something really small. He’s so fucking uncooperative, skinny asshole.

Then there’s strategically leaving leftovers in Hermann’s apartment, and then casually telling Hermann, “oh well, you can just have it then” when he asks about it. This works a few times, but considering that Hermann rarely invites him up to his apartment, not that often. 

Sometimes they get take out together, and that’s good, because then Newt can say that he doesn’t really like his food and tell Hermann to take it. But he has to make sure when he does this to not order food that Hermann would know he likes, but also to make sure to not order stuff that Hermann knows he doesn’t like, because either will make him suspicious. Damn him, why does he have to be so _clever_?

He tries to bring food along whenever he knows they’ll be hanging out together - doing his best to either make or buy stuff that he knows Hermann is fond of - claim its communal, and then eat as little as possible and make Hermann take it home. Tendo is an obstacle to this at first, because the man lives on snack foods and keeps eating most of it, until finally Newt drags him aside and in an angry whisper-shout - which sounds like an oxymoron, but is definitely possible - explains what he is doing and “could you please stop eating _everything_ , Tendo?”

Tendo laughs at him, calls him adorable, then sobers up and admits that Hermann has gotten kinda worryingly thin. He cooperates after that. 

Hermann does ask at one point, with narrowed eyes, “Why do you keep feeding me?” but Newt does his best to laughingly deny that he is. Hermann seems to buy it - or at least, he doesn’t ask again. Which is good, because if he would have killed Newt for remarking that he’s too skinny, he would definitely do something even worse if he knew that Newt was trying to do something about it. 

Newt doesn’t want to die over taking care of Hermann. He doesn’t like him _that_ much…probably. 

 

**Don’t ask him about the car crash.**

Newt tells himself for weeks that another rule is to not ask for details of what happened to Hermann. There are many moments where he nearly asks, he even once gets out the words, “about what happened to you…” but Hermann’s eyes instantly go dark and flat, and Newt blurts out “Never mind!” He never tries again after that. Even that much of the question was enough to make Hermann stay downcast and quiet the rest of the day, and Newt fidgets for hours, dying of curiosity and fear, and doesn't say a goddamn word.

But eventually, sometime in February, this rule is broken. He pulls up in front of Hermann’s apartment to drop him off, and Hermann unbuckles his seat belt and then sits stiff and silent and un-moving. Finally, he glances at Newt and abruptly says, “I can tell you’ve been dying to ask for ages and it’s irritating the fuck out of me, so just fucking ask already, okay?”

Newt nearly pretends to not know what Hermann means, then sighs, and quietly asks, “Will you tell me more about what happened to you?” 

Hermann gazes out the window, but Newt doubts he’s actually looking at anything. “One night...I - I couldn’t sleep. That happens to me - especially when I’m stressed - I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk. It was only around two in the morning, so it was pretty dark, and a car hit me.”

Newt holds his whole body rigidly still so as to not flinch. His muscles ache with the tension.

“I don’t really remember it,” Hermann continues. “I guess that’s fairly normal - something about short term memories being lost when you have a head injury…but apparently it was a hit and run. The driver called emergency services right away, though. 

“The impact broke my pelvis, and that in turn caused damage to a nerve in my leg, the, ah, femoral nerve. And apparently, nerve damage often heals, but the doctors could tell fairly quickly that it was…” his voice falters a moment, then continues steadily. “…permanent damage. It’s supposed to improve. It has been improving. But only to a certain extent. The limp will be…permanent.” Hermann shrugs jerkily. “There, that’s what happened.”

Newt can’t find words for a long moment, or even thoughts, or oxygen. His heart is pounding and his hands are shaking a bit, but everything else is perfectly still. The world outside his car is frozen in winter stillness. This winter has been colder than any in years. Ice coats the ground, and nothing moves other than the slight movements of Hermann restlessly flexing his hands. At last, as if dragged from deep inside him, come the whispered words, “God, Hermann, I’m so sorry…oh, shit, I’m not supposed to apologize.”

Hermann goes still too, then sits up straighter and fixes his gaze on Newt. “What do you mean, ‘sorry’?” he asks in a strange voice. 

Newt forces himself to look at Hermann. “W-well, I - I just feel so, so shitty, this is - kinda my fault-“

“Your- _Your fault_?” Hermann hisses disbelievingly, eyes narrowed to slits, mouth twisting furiously. “How on Earth - How is this possibly _your fault_?”

Newt flinches back, startled at the anger suddenly evident on Hermann’s face, a rage even colder than the wind drifting past the car. “I mean - I left, and then - you couldn’t sleep - so that’s-“ he tries to explain. 

“I have _always_ had problems sleeping!” Hermann explodes. “It has nothing to do with you - How _dare_ you - this is so goddamn typical of you, not everything is about _you_ , Newt! Things can happen to me that have _nothing_ to do with you, my life does not revolve around yours! A horrible thing happened to me, and it does not have a goddamn thing to do with you! Don’t you fucking dare make this about you, you selfish bastard!”

Newt says “Hermann- I-“ in a shell-shocked whisper, and Hermann shouts, “Just shut UP!” and starts fumbling furiously with the door. His hands are shaking so much that he has a hard time opening it, but he slams it open after a few seconds and lurches out of the car. He starts to walk jerkily up to his apartment, and Newt abruptly snaps out of his shock and scrambles to open his own door, his seat belt snapping him back into his seat before he remembers to undo it. He nearly falls out of his car, not even noticing the frosted air on his face, and calls desperately after Hermann as he scrambles to his feet.

Hermann pivots sharply and fixes a glare at him. His eyes are glittering with fury, and some stupid part of Newt's mind thinks that at least his eyes aren't dark and empty - instead they are spitting sparks. “Don’t - just don’t! Don’t fucking talk to me, don’t you dare follow me - I don’t want to see you again! Just leave me the hell ALONE!” 

Newt starts to say his name one last time, desperation tingling under his skin, but can barely get the first syllable out before Hermann shouts, “FUCK _OFF_!” and turns away again, marching resolutely up to the door. 

Newt sags limply against his car, blankly watching as Hermann vanishes into the building. He's the only movement in the cold winter landscape, and when he vanishes Newt is left standing alone in the empty street. It's cold as fuck. No wonder no one else is out. Newt wants to wait for Hermann to come back, he wants to wait for hours until there is movement in the world again, until there is an upright figure before him, awkward and beautiful with his baggy sweaters and cane, and then he wants - he wants an explanation, and he's not sure whether that explanation should be from him or from Hermann. Newt would really like to wait, but it's freezing out, and he doesn't have gloves or a hat. So instead, shaking, he gets back in his car and drives home.


	7. You Really Need To Listen To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Should" is the worst word in the English language, and I am not being facetious when I say that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from I'm Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance
> 
> I wrote this chapter quickly _and_ it's kinda long, I'm so pleased with myself. Might have my groove back.

February 12 - 19, 2014

He’s so angry that he’s shaking and is having a hard time seeing straight. There are shadows flickering in the corners of his eyes that remind him of being on the morphine - at least the hallucinations went away when they took him off the morphine, even if the nightmares didn't - and that simply makes him more furious. As he stands in the unsteady elevator, his hand clenches so hard on his cane that when he looks down his knuckles are white, and he only notices then that his grip is so tight that his hands ache. He unfolds his hands with an effort, and notices that he left nail marks in his left palm.

When he gets to his apartment, he slams the door open and then shut behind him to express some of his feelings, and stands in the entrance way, trembling and breathing hard. How fucking dare he- how fucking _dare_ he- _Bastard_. Hermann can’t make himself think in coherent thoughts. Every train of thought is quickly diffracted into pieces by the anger that is thunder storming inside him. 

Over these past few months, sometimes he has felt like he’s got a good grip on himself, and other times it feels like he’s about to fall apart. Right now, it's the latter. But normally when he gets like that he can lose his thoughts in something else, like the golden ratio or nebulas or calculating a star’s red shift, something complex and safe like that, and he hides in those logical patterns until his brain stops tearing itself apart and returns to its more normal - but still fucked up - functioning. Only now, every time he starts one of these familiar trains of thought, the rage flares up again and jumps him to a different idea, switching track every few seconds.

There’s Newt daring to fucking apologize for that - and there’s his father calling him _reckless_ \- and sitting on that bench and Newt leaving - and he’s walking and there’s maybe a light behind him and - and Newt leaving - and Newt apologizing - and Hermann walking out of his apartment that night - was he looking up at the sky as he walked, was that why he didn’t notice? - _reckless_ -

And no matter how many times he runs over all of it, it’s _not_ Newt’s goddamn fault, it has _nothing_ to do with him! How could he possibly think that - as if he has that much influence over Hermann’s life - he wasn't even in the goddamn country at the time! _Bastard_.

It must be near an hour before the anger begins to even fractionally subside and he can start to think coherently. He starts to wonder why he’s this angry, if he’s maybe overreacting, and then another wave of rage hits him and he decides that he isn’t overreacting at all. 

He’s essentially useless for the rest of the day, unable to concentrate on anything for long because little ripples of anger keep running through him again and distracting him. It’s tiring, too, to be this angry, and he tries to go to bed early. Then, of course, he can’t sleep because he’s too on edge, and that makes him think of Newt implying that he caused Hermann’s fucking insomnia - or whatever it is - and that’s even worse. The fucking _nerve_ of him. As if Hermann was lying awake every night _pining_ over him. He’s in no mood to admit that was true of some nights, particularly at the beginning of the summer. It’s not true of _every_ night, and this is all Hermann elects to remember. 

 

He wakes up the next day worrying over whether he _was_ thinking about Newt _that_ particular night. Surely not. That would just be _too_ pathetic, he couldn’t bear to think that this happened to him because he was fucking _heartbroken_ over some _stupid_ , hipster, asshole _boy_. No, he can’t have been thinking of Newt that night. God, it’s fucking hard to remember, the parts of that night that come before being _hit by a fucking car_ are blurry in his mind. Reasonably so, Hermann thinks. But - well - wasn’t he thinking about the stupid stick-on stars? But…no, no, he was already having a hard time falling asleep that night, it was hot and he was cross, that’s why he was looking at the stars, not the other way around. And _then_ he fell asleep, and then he woke up again, fucked if he knows why. A neighbor probably made a noise, or he had a weird dream. He’s a light sleeper - he's _always_ been a fucking light sleeper, Newt should _know_ that. So then he got up and went for a walk to try and clear his mind and tire him out, and that’s when-

He strains his mind, but he still can’t remember it. There might have been a light coming up behind him, but that could really just be his imagination. Honestly, he doesn’t even know for sure if he was struck from the front or the back. He’d been…he’d been walking on the side of the road. There wasn’t sidewalk there. But he’d really been on the very edge of it, right by the curb…but dammit, why didn’t he just walk _on_ the curb or even the grass, so what if the grass was wet - _reckless_ -

“Fuck!” Hermann growls at the ceiling. He can still see the very edges of those goddamn stick-on stars. It’s even less plausible for him to peel them off now. Maybe if he got a ladder - could he hold his balance on a ladder? _Reckless_ -

Goddammit. He really hates thinking about these things. It’s just stupid. It’s never going to fix anything. He couldn’t sleep, he went for a walk, he got hit by a car, and that’s that. That’s the story. That’s _all_ there is. No one else involved. Why bother thinking so much about something that can’t ever be changed? _Fuck_ Newt for making him think about all this all over again. 

He’s not as brain-fuckingly angry today as he was yesterday, but he still walks around all day in a foul mood. He manages to get through his whole day of classes without talking to anyone else, ignoring a few texts from Tendo to achieve that purpose, so at least he avoids taking his anger out on any innocents. He purposely takes the bus to and from school so as to completely avoid Tendo, and a good thing about the still simmering anger - the only good thing, so far as he can tell - is that he’s way too pissed to even think about being nervous or uncomfortable. Also, no one attempts to offer him a handicapped seat, and that helps too. He can see the headline now: “Grad Student With Limp Beats Good Samaritan To Death With His Cane.” And then there’d be a picture of that old lady sitting by the window, and she’d be crying and maybe have a bit of blood splattered on her face, and the picture would be captioned with “ Innocent bystander says ’All he did was offer that young man a seat! On account of his limp! He didn’t have to do that to the poor man!’”

By the time the school day is over - and his notes are bloody useless because they keep trailing off from when he would abruptly remember Newt daring to fucking _apologize_ as if he had the power to call a car down upon Hermann from halfway around the world - his anger is starting to recede. Newt hasn’t attempted to text him at all, and Hermann is pleased by that. Really. Pleased. He hasn’t even tried…why hasn’t he even tried? Doesn’t he want to make up? Or maybe he’s finally lost patience with Hermann’s hot-and-cold behavior…Not that Hermann wants to make up. He doesn’t. Newt is completely self-involved _and_ selfish, and it was a mistake to ever talk to him again. 

But shouldn’t Newt want to make up? He was expecting Newt to text him until Hermann gave in or told him to fuck off.

 

The next day he’s sort of hollow on the inside. The fury drained out during the night. When it was there, it had shoved all his other emotions and thoughts out of the way to make space for itself, and those feelings haven’t seemed to have crept back yet. So instead he’s empty and sort of tired. He slept badly the last few nights, and all his spare energy went to powering his anger. He comes home from school and immediately goes to sleep. He forgets to eat dinner again. Dammit, and he’d been starting to gain weight again for the first time since he was hurt. 

 

The day after that is Valentine’s day, and Hermann is angry all over again. He and Newt didn’t even actually do anything for the holiday last year - and Hermann still thinks it’s a stupid holiday - but nonetheless he is reminded of the aquarium trip that was meant as a stand-in. 

Why, why, _why_ did Newt have to look so - so fucking - Hermann can’t find the right word, but so fucking _something_ , he looked so fucking _something_ when he said those stupid fucking words. He can’t get the image out of his head. Stupid fucking axolotl. 

When Tendo texts him again - _dude whats up w/ u_ \- a variety of responses flash through his head in quick response, a fair amount of them rude. Eventually, he texts back, _I’m upset and if I talk to you I’ll take it out on you, so please leave me alone_. 

_something happen?_ Tendo asks.

_Ask Newt_ , Hermann responds, wondering if the bitterness comes through. Tendo doesn’t reply to this one. Hermann has been sure that Tendo’s going to get tired of Hermann’s bullshit soon, and wonders if maybe he just hit that point. After waiting ten minutes, Hermann puts his phone back in his pocket and puts it on silent. 

It’s a Friday, so he has to go to Striker to tutor the kids. He’s not exactly looking forward to it, but he also trusts himself to not take his feelings out on the children. He is, at least, not _that_ much of a piece of shit. And maybe spending time in the cafe will make him feel better. 

He's only been there about ten minutes before Chuck cautiously asks, “Are you okay?”

Dammit, he’d been trying to be more subtle than that. “I’m fine, I’m just a little…upset today. Don’t mind me,” he answers, trying to keep his voice flat but not unfriendly. 

Chuck nods anxiously and returns to his homework. Another ten minutes later he ventures, “Why are you upset?”

Hermann doesn’t sigh, but he’d like to. “I’m simply…” How the fuck does he explain this to Chuck? He doesn’t want to mention that he’s been around Newt, not with things...the way they are. He shrugs at last and says, “I’m just remembering some upsetting things.” 

Chuck scowls and mutters, “ _Him_ ,” in a dark voice. 

He does sigh this time. “I didn’t say that, Chuck, now focus on your homework-“

“I wish he never came here,” Chuck says.

Hermann goes still, and then says in a very quiet voice, “I don’t wish that.” Chuck looks up at him with eyes wide and astonished, and Hermann repeats, “Now focus on your homework.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Homework. Now.”

Chuck looks as if he is about to say more, but Mako tugs sternly at his arm and points at his worksheet. The boy reluctantly returns to studying, often surreptitiously glancing at Hermann, who pretends to not notice and concentrates on keeping the surprise over what he just said off his face.

He really _doesn’t_ wish that. He doesn’t wish he never met Newt, he doesn’t wish to have never fallen in love with him, he doesn’t wish to have never dated him or kissed him or screwed him. He could - and does - wish that things ended differently, but he doesn’t regret the relationship. It - Newt - brought him a lot of happiness. Last year was probably the happiest he’d ever been in his life. He wouldn’t trade that for the loss of the heartbreak. 

He hadn’t realized that until now, how precious that time was to him. And suddenly, the memory of the aquarium, instead of making him angry, aches inside him. He wants - he wants that back. He wants that happiness back. He was scared when Newt said - what he said - but he was also so - so fucking happy. He wants to be happy again. He wants to go back to that day, and tell Newt that he loves him too, and kiss him, and tell him to never ever leave. 

Every time he realizes again that he still loves Newt, it hurts. He tries to not wonder if Newt still loves him. 

He thinks that Newt probably doesn’t - he left, after all - and it’s been months since then, and Hermann’s been such a jerk and is so fucked up. Newt probably doesn’t love him anymore. He thinks that, and the anger, which had temporarily faded away, resurges.

 

Every time his phone buzzes over the weekend - which admittedly it only actually does once, but he imagines hearing it about fifty times - he’s expecting it to be Newt, and it never is. Even though he told Newt to not talk to him, he finds himself getting angry that Newt isn’t at least _trying_ to get in contact with him. 

 

Tuesday, he accidentally sees Newt on campus - why does that keep _happening_ \- on the edge of an open lawn area that is popular with students when it’s warm and is filled with student traffic even in the winter. He’s within a meter or two before he realizes that the short, hat-wearing figure approaching him is Newt. Before he can turn and walk away, Newt looks up and sees him too. His gray eyes open wide, and he looks at Hermann with lips slightly parted, as if deciding whether or not to speak. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Hermann snaps.

Newt nods and murmurs “okay,” turning his bright eyes to the ground, shoulders slumped.

Hermann stares at him, waiting for him to say more, and Newt mumbles, “Um, bye, then,” and honest to God starts to walk away. 

“That’s it?” Hermann demands, incredulous. “You’re actually going to just leave? You’re not going to try and apologize, or, or, explain yourself?”

Newt turns back to him. “D-do you want me to? Because I will if you want me to-“

“No, I don’t want you to! I don’t want to talk to you! But- don’t you-“ Hermann halts abruptly, staring narrowly at Newt, trying to figure out what’s going on. “Why aren’t you fighting with me?” he says at last. 

“I don’t - what do you mean?”

“You always fight with me! B-before, I could have said anything and you would have debated it, I could have told you the sky was blue and you’d have started insisting it was actually yellow, because - that’s just how you _are_ \- but now I shout at you and you don’t say a _word_ , I tell you to fuck off and you fuck off, I don’t understand! And then - then you come back, I really don’t understand, I would think you just wanted to leave and that’s why you leave but if that’s the case why do you keep coming back but not arguing with me?"

Newt looks as if he isn’t quite following. “Do you - do you want me to argue with you? O-or leave?”

“No!” Hermann growls, rolling his eyes. “I just - I don’t understand, that’s all, why are you acting like this? Why are you even putting up with me?”

“B-because…um…“

“I’m acting like such a piece of shit and there’s no reason for you to take that, so why don’t you just - I don’t understand!”

“You’re not acting like a piece of shit!” Newt protests. Why is _that_ the part he argues with?

“I _am_!” Hermann shouts back, increasingly, irrationally annoyed. People are starting to look at them, but Hermann disregards them. “I get angry at you all the time, and half the time you don’t deserve it - although you did deserve it this last time - and then I say something really horrible and hateful and you get that kicked puppy look and just let me be awful to you, and then I feel guilty about it, and I don’t understand why you let me, I don’t understand why you haven’t given up on me, you’re going to leave eventually so why don’t you just leave now before-“ He stops all at once, pressing his left hand over his mouth to stop the words. His eyes prickle all at once, and he hunches his shoulders and stares at the ground and breathes unevenly, trying to get himself back under control. 

Newt looks at him with evident concern, and says, “Herman, are you-“ and starts to move closer, then visibly restrains himself, dropping his hands to his side and clenching them into fists. Hermann’s glad. If Newt touched him - he might punch him. Or worse, he might pull him closer and hold him as tightly as possible as he falls apart. “I’m not gonna leave,” Newt says quietly. 

“Yes, you _are_ ,” Hermann insists hopelessly, pulling his hand away from his mouth and instead wrapping his arm around his rib cage tightly. “You’ll - you’ll get tired of me, you’ll realize I’m too fucked up and then you’ll leave again-“

“I won’t-“

“You should, because I _am_ fucked up-“

“That’s okay, Hermann, you can be fucked up, I won’t leave-“

“ _What_? It’s _okay_?” Hermann repeats, jerking his head up to stare at Newt. Newt’s arms are pressed to his sides as if bound there, his whole body tilted toward Hermann as if his feet are stuck to the ground but he’s straining to get as close as he can. A flicker of hope runs across his face when he realizes that Hermann is actually listening to him.

“Yeah, dude, seriously, it’s okay for you to be fucked up. And angry and scared and lonely and, and, _whatever_ , that’s okay, you should just feel whatever you feel - and, and that’s why I’m - ‘putting up with you’ - that’s your words, okay, not the ones I would use - because - I mean, partially because I maybe kind of _deserve_ it, but more because you - you deserve it, Hermann-“

“What the hell are you going on about?” Hermann snaps. He’s shaking. Why is he shaking?

Newt nods and pauses, and Hermann recognizes the mannerism as one Newt does when he thinks he’s onto something and is trying to clarify it in his head so that he can explain it. “It’s like - the world did this - this shitty thing to you. And so now the world kinda owes you the right to be fucked up over it, at least for a little while. You get to be a little bit horrible - although I don’t think you’re being that horrible, certainly nothing I can’t handle - you get to be angry and mean, and that’s totally reasonable! Who wouldn’t be fucked up over something like that? I definitely wouldn’t handle it as well as you - I think you’re doing really well. You’re really strong. And I’m definitely not going to be driven away by it or whatever, because I louum. Um. I really c-care about you and uh, stuff, so I’ll stick with you…um, for as long as you want me to, that is.” Newt ends here and looks at Hermann hopefully.

Hermann is shaking his head. “No,” he says blankly. “No, no you’re wrong, I, I should be, I should be doing better, I shouldn’t feel this-“

“You should feel however you feel,” Newt insists. “Really, Hermann, you have to stop apologizing to me for this stuff because you’re not doing anything wrong. Or at least-“

“Shut up,” Hermann whispers, his hand coming up to his face again. He’s going to - Newt, fortunately, cuts off his line of thinking at once, instead saying Hermann’s name in an anxious voice. 

“I don’t - how come you can be so - so stupid sometimes, and other times you’re s-so goddamn _nice_ , and I don’t deserve it-“

“Of course you do,” Newt says instantly, his voice so gentle that it hurts. Hermann holds his breath until it feels safe to breathe. Newt waits quietly. 

“Okay,” Hermann says at last, voice steady, glancing at Newt and then away again. He’s not sure what he means by that, but it feels like the right thing to say.

“Okay?” Newt repeats, making it sound more like a question. Hermann nods at the ground. “Then…” Newt starts tentatively, trails off is deciding to not finish his statement, then stiffens his shoulder - Hermann can see the movement out of the corner of his eye - and continues, “Then, can we maybe…talk about what happened last week? I’m just - I think we need to talk about that.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Hermann sighs. They should talk about that. “Yes, all right.”

“Um, but maybe - not here -“ Newt says, glancing around. There are still several students giving them curious looks. “Could I take you out to dinner, maybe? In a totally - totally straight way -“ Hermann mutters _straight_ disbelievingly and Newt grins embarrassedly. “- You know what I mean.”

“…I suppose,” Hermann agrees.

Newt smiles, then his face falls. “Oh, but I have work tonight. Office hours. There’s an exam coming up - never mind that. Tomorrow?”

“That’s probably better,” Hermann says. He’s still on edge, still upset by this conversation even though it wasn’t really a fight. Mostly it had just been Newt saying - stupidly nice things, in fact. But it still leaves him uneasy. A day’s space will help him calm down. 

“Cool,” Newt says, the smile restored to his face. “I’ll pick you up around, um, seven, s’that good?”

“Yes, that’s fine…um. See you then, I suppose…”

Newt takes this as a cue to leave - which is how Hermann meant it - says, “See ya,” and walks away, nearly, but not quite, brushing against Hermann as he passes. Hermann remains still a little longer, then sighs, rubs his face, and also walks off.

 

Hermann is on edge all the next day, and he doesn’t know why. It happens like that, sometimes; he’ll feel anxious and uncomfortable, for absolutely no apparent reason. He’ll be having a perfectly nice day when suddenly the anxiety creeps behind him and hangs about his shoulders all day, and because it has no source there’s also, often, no way to rid himself of it.

The worst part is how it feeds on itself. The anxiety comes, and then he worries about that anxiety, and about having another panic attack, and that makes him feel even more tense, and on and on. On days like this he would prefer to not even leave his apartment, because the thought of having an anxiety attack in public is...it terrifies him, honestly. The few times that it came on him before when he wasn’t in a private place, he was fortunately able to avoid notice - other than Tendo, and that was bad enough - but he’s afraid that he won’t be so lucky next time. But he has class today, so staying in all day is not an option, as tempting as it seems. He forces himself into the crowded classrooms, sitting as near to the door as possible so that if he starts to lose it he can quickly and quietly leave the classroom. 

There’s a moment in the middle of his second class - a class he normally enjoys, but today can barely focus on - when he’s nearly certain he’s about to fall apart. He even gets to the point of standing up and leaving the classroom, finding an empty space in the hallway to stand alone, and he’s miserably chastising himself for letting himself get to this point again - goddammit, why isn’t he stronger than this, he should be stronger than this - when he suddenly thinks _you should feel however you feel_. Somehow he catches onto that, holding tight to those words, and the flood of anxiety slowly subsides without him drowning in it. He stands braced against the wall a little longer, half-expecting it to come back, but although the tension is still at its earlier levels, it doesn’t rise any higher. He returns to his classroom slowly, puzzling over those words. Where…where did he hear that?

When the tenseness still hasn’t dissipated by the late afternoon, he considers canceling on Newt, and even pulls out his phone to call him. But although he’s expecting a rush of relief at that thought - has been considering all day that maybe Newt is the reason he’s feeling so off today - instead he feels his anxiety rather sharply spike. He stares at the phone blankly, and then slowly puts it back in his pocket without turning it on. 

Newt arrives at seven o’ five, which is positively early for him. Hermann sticks his head outside the window to make sure it’s him, and calls down, “I’ll be there in a moment,” as Newt grins at him and jauntily waves. He pulls on his coat and hat and gloves - it’s not as cold as it was last month, but it’s still pretty damn chilly - and is out the door shortly after. 

Newt is still smiling when he walks out the door. “Hi,” he says chirpily, bouncing in place on the sidewalk, presumably to warm up. Hermann scowls at him and feels a little of his tension dissipate.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” he notes dourly as he climbs into Newt’s car.

“Yeah,” Newt agrees, his enthusiasm undimmed by Hermann’s lack of response. If anything, he seems heartened by it. “Dunno why, just feel good today.”

“It’s not a date,” Hermann says warningly, in case that’s why Newt is so cheerful. 

But Newt nods and carries on smiling and says, “Course not, didn’t think it was. Just looking forward to hanging out with you in a totally straight, manly, bro-ish way.”

“You said ‘bro-ish’, I want to cancel, take me home.”

“S’too late now!” Newt cackles, and Hermann feels the corner of his mouth twitch. A little more tension is released. 

_Damn him_ , he thinks, and stares out the window, scowling at his reflection in the dark glass. Newt turns on the radio and sings along until they pull up in front of the restaurant. It’s nowhere they’ve ever been before, Hermann is obscurely pleased to note. Definitely not any place with romantic undertones hanging over it. 

It’s more crowded inside than Hermann would have expected of a Wednesday night, but they are seated immediately and it’s warm, so he supposes he can’t complain. The waiter takes their drink order - Hermann is surprised to note that Newt doesn’t order any alcohol - and then they are left alone. 

Newt still looks optimistic, but the silence is undoubtedly awkward. Neither seems to know what to say. Hermann studies Newt quietly, waiting for him to start asking questions as he always does. 

Newt looks good these days, which is massively unfair of him. Hermann has never particularly cared about his personal appearance, but he knows that he looks shitty these days, with his hair cut too short because he didn’t want to deal with it and with all the weight he’s lost and with the shadows under his eyes that he can’t get to leave. Newt’s hair is shorter too, but it suits him. It’s always been wild, and still is, but it’s a more controlled wildness these days. Hermann wonders if that indicates more or less energy put into doing his hair. Surely less, because there’s no way a person could put any more energy into making their hair look careless than Newt did last year. 

Newt shifts a little in his seat, and Hermann’s attention is drawn to his tattoos. Those stupid fucking tattoos. He’d told Hermann last year about his plan for sleeves - and eventually full body tats - but Hermann had still been startled when Newt came back with the beginning of them. He’s done more on them now, they’re starting to be colored in. Of _course_ he got fucking kaiju tattooed on him. They do look rather nice, but that doesn’t make Hermann any less irritated about them. And what’s with the fucking wristband? Hermann hasn’t seen him once since he got back without that leather wristband encircling his left wrist. It makes him look like an asshole. 

Newt still hasn’t said anything, and is now intently studying the menu in a clearly uncomfortable manner, and Hermann decides he’s tired of waiting. “Are you going to ask, at any point?” he demands. Newt startles and looks up at him. 

“Why do you always do that?” he asks, head tilted curiously. 

Hermann leans back slightly, caught off guard by that question, which was certainly not the one he was expecting. “Do what?”

Before Newt can answer, the waiter returns to take their order. Hermann orders at random off the menu. Newt orders something that sounds way more delicious. The waiter smiles at them in a knowing manner that Hermann does not at all appreciate, and then vanishes again. 

“Do what?” Hermann repeats. 

“Well,” Newt starts to explain, frowning thoughtfully, “whenever you know that I want to talk about - or ask you about - something that you don’t want to talk about - well, I mean, the times that you don’t just tell me to fuck off - instead of explaining whatever it is, you tell me to ask about it, and then you…either tell me to fuck off or explain it…at least a bit. And I’m just wondering, if you’re already intending to explain it - or tell me to fuck off - then, why do you tell me to ask about it?”

Hermann opens his mouth, closes it, then snaps, “I don’t do that.”

“Dude, you did it just now. And - at Chr- that time in S- you’ve definitely done it before, more than once.”

“I do not-“

“You do so - it’s not a big deal, I’m just wondering. I mean, I can just drop it, I’m just curious-“ 

“Then do so-“

“Okay, okay, just asking.”

Hermann moves around in his chair, scowls down at the table, then crosses his arms and says, “I don’t think I do that but - I suppose - It’s that, if you’re going to make me talk about it, then I’m going to make you ask, and I’m certainly not going to talk about it unless I have to…But I don’t do that.”

Newt says, “That’s so like you. And you definitely do that,” looking as if he’s trying to hide a smile. 

“Shut up,” Hermann responds, and then, “Well, are you going to ask?”

“Oh, right,” Newt says, sobering up. “Right. Um. So…why did you get so mad when I apologized the other day?”

Hermann sighs and fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt. “It’s…it’s like…” He’s having a hard time finding the right words. He glances at Newt, who is watching him intently. His eyes look green today. “I don’t know, Newt, it was this thing that happened to me, and had nothing to do with you, and hearing you apologize for it…It felt like you were trying to, to make it about you or something-“

“I really wasn’t,” Newt anxiously interjects.

“I know, but - but you are…selfish.” Newt nods and drops his gaze. “I mean, I’m pretty selfish too, and most of the time I don’t mind so much that you’re selfish, but this time it was…too much. And…it’s like…I don’t know. I was just really angry about that.” He feels the anger again, just thinking about it. “So just…I need you to understand that me - getting hurt. That had absolutely nothing to do with you. You - you weren’t even here - so it couldn’t possibly relate to you, all right?”

Newt nods again and raises his eyes to Hermann, watching him carefully as if he’s expecting Hermann to start shouting. Hermann folds his hands on the table so that he’ll stop moving them around and looks at Newt with a level gaze. 

Newt swallows, then tentatively asks, “So…you don’t blame me, then?”

“No, of course not. Bloody hell. Do you - do you think I would ever fucking talk to you again if I blamed you? Because I would not.”

“Oh. Y-yeah, that…that makes sense,” he pauses then mumbles, “I just kinda thought maybe you did. Since…since you didn’t call me, and all…”

“Oh.” Hermann lifts one hand to rub at his forehead. “Um. That’s - that’s not why I did that. There are - reasons for that, but it’s…kinda complicated…”

“…can I ask what those reasons are?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Hermann says softly. 

“Okay,” Newt agrees immediately. He falls silent, looking as if he’s considering something, and Hermann waits. After a few moments Newt says, “Have you…forgiven me at all yet? Even a little?”

Hermann twists his mouth, drums his fingers on the table, remembers he was trying to keep his hands still, and lays them flat on the table with an effort. Newt stares at him with both hope and dread in his eyes. Hermann admits with a reluctant sigh, “Maybe a tiny bit.” When Newt starts to smile, Hermann hastily adds, “Not - not much. Don’t get excited over it, or anything. I, I suppose I like you a _tiny_ bit more than when you first came back.”

Newt puts his hands over his mouth, presumably to hide his smile. Hermann rolls his eyes and stares beyond him. The motherly looking women sitting behind Newt is looking at them weirdly. Hermann starts absentmindedly drumming his fingers again.

“I like you a tiny bit more too, you know,” Newt says, drawing Hermann’s attention back. 

“I beg your pardon?” Hermann asks, raising an eyebrow, and Newt actually laughs a little.

“Well, I just mean, it’s kinda working for you. You’ve gotten even more crotchety, you’re pretty badass with your cane -“ Hermann huffs in a sort of outraged way and Newt grimaces apologetically and continues “- sorry, it’s just, you know, you totally seem like you should be - I dunno, a sci-fi character. S’totally working for you. You’re like five seconds away from saying, ‘dammit, Newt, I’m a physicist not a - um - whatever.’ That got away from me. But anyway, I like it.” 

“You’re perfectly ridiculous,” Hermann tells him, but even he can tell there’s no sting to the words. 

“That’s only gotten worse,” Newt informs him, his eyes crinkling as he grins. Hermann takes a drink of water to hide his face, wishing that Newt didn’t have such a warm smile. 

“Here’s your food!” their waiter announces, returning with two dishes balanced on his arms. Newt’s food definitely looks way better. Hermann regrets his random choice.

“Wanna switch?” Newt asks.

Hermann looks between the two dishes, considers saying no to be polite, then glances at Newt, who is still smiling, and says, “…do you mind?”

“Nah, yours looks delicious and I’m not that into mine. Didn’t realize it had - uh - mushrooms. Gross. Let’s switch.” He reaches out and picks up Hermann’s plate, hissing under his breath when he realizes it’s hot, and then slides his own plate over to Hermann’s side of the table.

“Thanks,” Hermann says.

“No biggie,” Newt responds. They eat in silence for a few moments, and then Newt excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

And that’s when everything goes wrong.


	8. Breathing's Just A Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ominous music]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Regina Spektor's One More Time With Feeling because it started playing as I was writing this chapter and wow it perfectly captures how I think Hermann feels. 
> 
> I feel that I should warn that the descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks in this chapter might be kinda vivid.

February 19, 2014

Newt winks at himself in the mirror. He can’t seem to stop smiling, nor does he want to. Things are going about fifty billion percent better than he was expecting. Although to be fair, his expectations were not very high at all. He’d regretted suggesting they go out to eat as soon as he’d walked away from Hermann yesterday. Being in public didn’t seem like a real great idea, considering the amount of their interactions that involved Hermann yelling at him. And he knows Hermann doesn’t approve of behaving like that in public. Then he’d felt a moment of relief, thinking that maybe being in public would stop Hermann from shouting at him, and then he’d promptly felt really guilty for thinking that. And right after he’d told Hermann it was okay to act like that - which he still thinks is true. Of course it's okay for Hermann to upset and irrational. But that doesn’t mean that Newt enjoys it when Hermann tears him a new one. He'd pretty much been anticipating that he was going to be torn several new ones when they tried to talk about the fight of the previous week. He was thinking shouting, swearing, searing contempt and disapproval - Hermann is _so_ good at that - maybe getting a water thrown in his face or something.

But instead of all _that_ , he’s got _this_. There were inevitably some uncomfortable moments, but definitely nothing like what he was afraid of. And Hermann doesn’t blame him for what happened.

Hermann doesn’t blame him.

That’s so great that Newt wants to say it non-stop. He smiles even wider at his reflection. He’d really thought Hermann blamed him - or, well, he’d been trying to not think about it, because he was so certain it was true and it was so goddamn horrible. But - Hermann doesn’t blame him.

And everything after Hermann telling him that went pretty fucking awesomely, and Newt may have said some kind of dumb stuff because he was so elated - Hermann doesn’t blame him - but then that went well too. He was even kind of flirting a little, and it didn’t seem like Hermann minded. He wasn’t quite smiling, but the whole strategically-taking-a-drink-of-water-to-hide-his-face thing was so classically Hermann, and was something he used to do all the time when he thought Newt was being funny but didn’t want to encourage him by responding positively. And he let Newt switch their meals without even being difficult about it, and totally let the whole “didn’t realize it had mushrooms” slide, even though Newt thinks the lie was pretty obvious. The whole thing just feels so - _good_. Better than it’s felt in ages. Almost as great as it used to be between them, and the best part is not that Hermann doesn’t blame him - although that’s a super close second - but that Hermann seems to be enjoying himself too. It’s fucking amazing to see him with a relaxed expression on his face. 

Newt ruffles a hand carefully through his hair, making sure it holds its careless look, examines his teeth, then smiles at the mirror again and turns to leave the bathroom. The good vibe lasts all the way back to their table, and then the grin falls off his face in an instant. 

Hermann isn’t there. His food is there, coat is still hanging neatly on the back of his chair, hat and gloves sticking out of his pocket, but Hermann and his cane are both gone. Their waiter is standing by the table, scowling, letting out a relieved breath when Newt walks up. 

“Where did he go?” Newt asks blankly. 

“I was wondering where both of you went,” the kid says slimily. Newt considers that he probably thought they were dining and dashing, and narrows his eyes at him. 

“I went to the bathroom,” he says coldly. “You don’t know where he went?”

The kid shakes his head. Newt glances around the restaurant, but it’s quickly clear that Hermann is nowhere to be seen. He tends to stand out, a bit. And he can’t have gone to the bathroom, because he’d have passed by Newt, and other than that there's only one place for him to be. Newt sighs and mutters, “fuck,” then starts to put on his coat. He can’t have gone far. He certainly can’t have gone home, because there’s no way he could walk that; it’s too far even if he didn’t have a limp.

“Where are you going?” the kid demands, stepping in front of him.

“I’m just going to look for my friend, chill the fuck out,” Newt snaps.

“I can’t just let both of you leave-“ the kid starts to complain. 

Newt sighs angrily, then rummages in his pocket, pulling out his wallet and shoving it at him. “Here, okay, I’ll leave this with you, as proof that I’m coming back. My driver’s license, school ID, and credit card are all in here, so I’m not just gonna leave without it. Now, I’m gonna leave, and you’re gonna let me, or else I will give you literally nothing as a tip, okay, _nothing_.”

“I…I suppose I can let you go for…five minutes or so. But you better come back!” the kid says, trying - and failing - to sound threatening. 

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Newt says, stepping around the kid and heading to the door. 

A cold wind whips over him as he steps outside. He folds his arms around himself and scowls out at the poorly lit parking lot, peering into the darkness. Hermann really can’t have gone far, because he left behind his coat and it’s pretty effing cold, but Newt can’t see him anywhere. He calls out Hermann’s name, but no response, and, worrying a bit now, wanders a few yards into the parking lot. He slowly turns 360 degrees, scanning the lot, and that’s when he sees him.

Hermann’s around the left corner of the building. There is only sparsely filled parking lot back there, no other humans in sight, and the only sound is the wind and faint music coming from the restaurant. His back is toward Newt. He’s partially hunched over, leaning on the building with his left arm braced against the wall and his right wrapped tightly around his torso, cane at his feet, visibly trembling. And it’s like, it’s like in movies when the character walks into his house and the music goes really ominous and everything is dark and still and the watcher instantly knows that something is horribly wrong. That’s what it’s like. There’s ominous music playing. Newt freezes and feels the shock deep under his ribcage and around the edges of his brain, and knows that something is _wrong_.

Then he’s moving, running to Hermann, crying out his name in a shaking, unfamiliar voice. He breaks two of his rules in one go, gasping out “Are you _okay_?” and laying one hand on his shoulder. Hermann flinches sharply away from him. 

“I-I’m f-fine, go away,” Hermann growls, and it’s such a terrible lie that it is not at all laughable. Newt can hear him breathing, short, jerky inhales and exhales that sound as if they would scrape at your throat and lungs. Though his face is mostly turned away from Newt, what he can see of it is white - but white is not the right word, it’s greyish and unhealthy and wrong. 

He’s not fine. “You’re not fine!” Newt says, and he’s so scared that the words come out as a shrill shout. “What’s wrong - a-are you sick or something? Hermann-“

“N-n-no, s-shut up, _just shut up_ ,” Hermann whispers. There’s a desperation in his voice that entirely cuts away Newt’s voice for a moment, and then sends him scrambling for his cell phone.

“I’m gonna call an ambulance-“

“ _No_!” Hermann cries, turning to look at Newt at last, his right hand flying out and catching Newt’s wrist in a tight grasp. His hand is absolutely fucking freezing. His eyes are opened too wide, the color too dark, even in the dim street lamps lighting the lot - it takes Newt a dizzying second to realize that his pupils are hugely dilated. “P-please don’t,” he begs, voice breaking. “I-I’m - I’ll be f-fine. Soon.”

Newt is incapable of moving for what feels like a long time, staring back at Hermann, the edges of his mind jumping and jittering so that he can hardly think. It feels absolutely wrong, but he nods once and withdraws his hand from his pocket. Hermann lets go of him abruptly. Maybe a centimeter of the fear on his face is lessened now that the threat of Newt calling for help is gone. But, oh fucking god, the fear that is left on his face is going to tear Newt to pieces. No one should ever look like that - and especially not Hermann, _especially not Hermann_.

“S-should I get help or something, should I do anything? What’s - what’s wrong, Hermann, what should I do?” Newt stammers. 

“Just shut _up_ ,” Hermann says again, his right hand going to his face now, fanning his fingers over his eyes. 

“O-oh.” Newt falls silent through a serious force of will. It goes against all his instincts. He should be doing something - anything - he should be helping Hermann - what’s _wrong_ with him? Because there has to be something wrong, there’s clearly something wrong, every line of Hermann’s posture and every one of Newt’s instincts is screaming _wrong_.

It takes centuries of Hermann shivering and shaking and breathing in short, heaving gasps, centuries of Newt hovering silent and frightened and endlessly fucking helpless at his side, but eventually, slowly, Hermann’s breathing slows down until it sounds less like he’s dying and more like he was recently chased by something horrifying. He inhales and exhales deeply a few times, his bowstring tight posture starting to relax, and he shifts until his back is leaning against the wall and his left arm is wrapped around his ribs. His right hand is still hiding his face. He’s still shaking violently, but that might be that he is wearing only a sweater in thirty degree weather - but also might not be that. 

“Hermann?” Newt dares to say at last, barely above a whisper. “Are you…okay?”

Hermann doesn’t answer at first, then responds in a low, hoarse voice that sounds only slightly less broken than before, “I’m…better.” 

Newt is clenching his hands into fists at his side from the desire to reach out and hold him. Now is not the time, not unless Hermann asks him to. “What was that?”

Hermann runs a hand over his face, revealing a face that still looks absolutely broken, and drops his arm to join the other in wrapping tightly around himself. “I, I c-can’t-“ he says helplessly, looking at Newt for one second that hurts more than all the moments he was heartbroken over the summer combined, and then dropping his gaze to the ground.

“Okay,” Newt nods, because even though it isn’t at all okay, he does not have it in him to make Hermann talk when he looks at Newt like that. 

“Can you please just take me home?” Hermann whispers. 

“Yeah, course, home, yeah,” Newt agrees. There’s an instant where he cannot for the life of him remember where his car is, and he spins and scans the parking lot desperately, relief momentarily flooding his brain when he sees his car. He starts toward it, only getting a step or two away when Hermann calls out his name in a choked voice. 

He spins around, afraid all over again, and sees Hermann, standing up straight now, staring at his cane on the ground, shame and humiliation written so sharply on his face that it cuts Newt to ribbons. “I, I don’t think I can-“

“Of course,” Newt says softly, and walks back swiftly, ducking down. He keeps his face tilted down and pretends to fumble with it at first, because he needs a moment to blink away the tears that are inappropriately burning at his eyes. There’s no way he’s letting Hermann see that, Hermann doesn’t need that on top of everything. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut and thinks _No_ as hard as possible until the tears go away, and then straightens and holds the cane out to him. 

He takes it without meeting Newt’s eyes and mutters “Thanks,” very quietly. 

“Of course,” Newt says again, wondering how gentle is too gentle. 

He walks slowly to his car this time, listening intently for the sound of Hermann behind him to make sure he’s getting along okay, but firmly resisting the temptation to turn around and look at him or to offer him physical support. He isn’t parked too far away, fortunately, since Hermann sounds like he isn’t moving too great. Newt turns on his car with hands so unsteady that he nearly drops his keys. 

Hermann climbs in gratefully and sits in the passenger seat shaking violently, curling in on himself as small as he can go. He looks so fragile that there’s an instant where Newt is genuinely afraid that he will shake himself to pieces. Only then does he remember that he still needs to return to the restaurant. 

“Um, I still need to - I gotta go back. Inside. I’ll be back soon…will you, um, is it okay if I, if I leave you alone? I’ll, uh, leave the car, and the, the heat on. That okay?” He’s having a hard time speaking coherently. 

Hermann nods jerkily without looking at him. Newt shuts the driver door, walks away, stops, turns around, walks back and opens the door. He strips off his coat and holds it out. “Um, here, you look - frozen.” Hermann glances up at him this time, then reluctantly reaches out one hand to take it. “Be back in a sec,” Newt says quietly, and leaves for real this time. 

The waiter spots him as soon as he comes in, and strides up with an aggressive expression on his face. “I said five minutes-“

“Shut up,” Newt says. His voice is quiet, but there must be real venom there because the kid is silent in an instant, eyes going wide. “I’ll tip you twenty bucks if you ring up my bill and pack up our food _right fucking now_.”

The boy nods nervously and dares to ask, “I-is your friend okay?”

“You have my wallet, just bring me a box and I’ll do that myself. Yes,” Newt snaps.

The kid does move as quickly as Newt wanted, dropping off two boxes and paying the check as Newt messily shovels the food in - his hands still unsteady - and bundles up Hermann’s abandoned coat. When the kid hands him his wallet, Newt extracts a twenty and slaps it down on the table, then leaves without a word, too distracted to hear the waiter’s mumbled “have a nice night.”

Hermann is curled up in the exact same position in the car, Newt’s jacket draped awkwardly over him. His eyes are shut, and Newt thinks for a moment he’s asleep, but he visibly jerks when Newt opens the door. He looks at Newt, his eyes no longer disturbingly dilated, but the shadows under starkly dark. Newt drops the leftovers in the back seat, then holds out Hermann’s coat and says, “Here’s your coat.”

“Thanks,” Hermann mumbles, taking it from him and unfolding it enough to shrug it on as Newt buckles himself into the driver’s seat. He tries to hand Newt his coat back, but Newt pretends to not notice. Hermann’s still clearly shaking, he needs it more. 

They spend the drive to Hermann’s apartment in aching silence as Hermann’s shivers slowly pass. Newt drives more carefully than he normally would, too freaked out to be reckless. It’s not a long drive, and soon he parks in front of Hermann’s apartment. He doesn’t unlock the doors.

Neither says anything, both staring out at the road, until, at last, Hermann is the one to give. That’s rare. It’s normally Newt. He’s not cut out for silence, but there’s an ice block sitting in his throat right now.

“I just - Can we not talk about this right now, please, Newt? I, I can’t right do this right now-“ he says in a dull voice.

Newt cuts him off, still watching the dark road, hands limp in his lap. “Are you - are you sick? Did something more go wrong when you got hurt, something you didn’t tell me about, are you hurt, are you -“ his voice cracks and the last few words, the ones he hadn’t meant to speak, come tumbling out in a rush, “Are you _dying_?” There’s a sob pulling at his chest, and he slaps one hand to his mouth, digging his nails into his cheek and shutting his eyes. 

“No!” Hermann cries. “No, no, no no, it’s nothing like that, I swear, honestly-“

“You can’t tell me there’s nothing wrong!” Newt replies, his eyes jerking open again. He turns to Hermann, desperately searching his face, too upset to keep his voice down. “That - that wasn’t - that wasn’t _okay_ , Hermann, you can’t tell me that there wasn’t something wrong there!”

“It was a panic attack,” Hermann says, quickly, like pulling a band-aid off. “Th-that’s all, it was a stupid fucking panic attack, I’m not sick.” His eyes are wide, dark eyelashes fanning across his still too pale skin, face drawn taut with misery. And shame. Misery and shame, but nothing like you would expect of a person dying - and Newt doesn’t know what you would expect of someone that was dying, but he doesn’t see it in Hermann. 

He stares at him intently a moment longer, then takes a deep, uneven breath and believes him, shoulders slumping with relief. Only then does the rest of what he said really sink in, and Newt sits up again immediately. “A- A panic attack? Like - like a _panic_ attack?” he squeaks stupidly. 

Hermann doesn’t even remark on this repetition. He nods miserably and slumps down in his seat. 

“Wha- How long has that been going on?”

“Since August,” Hermann answers tonelessly. 

“August- Oh. The car-“

“Yes,” Hermann says, cutting him off before he can say more. “It’s, it’s only happened once or twice - it’s not - that big of a deal-“

“Not that big of a deal!” Newt shouts incredulously. Hermann flinches and shrinks away, and Newt says instantly, hands flying up helplessly, “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to shout, I'm sorry.” Shit, he’s breaking rules left and right tonight. He’s not sure the rules apply to a situation like this. “It’s just - that kinda seemed like a big deal.”

“I can handle it,” Hermann mumbles unconvincingly. He’s taller than Newt, how can he look so tiny right now?

“Have you - I don’t know, talked to a doctor about this?”

Hermann sighs. “No.”

“What - Well, a therapist or something?”

“ _No_.”

“Why the hell _not_?”

“I really don’t want to have this conversation right now-“

“ _Hermann_ -“

“I can handle it, Newt! It’s, they hardly ever happen, and it’s not normally - that bad - you, you weren’t supposed to see anyway-“

“Me not seeing it doesn't make it not happen! And how many times is ‘hardly’?”

“S’none of your damn business!”

“I don’t know, Hermann, I found you fucking hyperventilating in a parking lot, you scared the life outta me, I think it’s maybe a little bit my business!”

Hermann shouts, “Fuck off!” and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, effectively closing off his whole body.

Newt thumps his head back into the head rest of his seat, then says “Sorry,” contritely into the silence that follows. “I’m sorry, Hermann, and I - I know you don’t want to talk about this with me but - I just…god. I’m sorry. You just really freaked me out.”

Hermann doesn’t move or say anything. 

“…do you know why it happened?” Newt ventures after a few more moments of silence. “Tonight, I mean…Did I-“ he cuts off that line of questioning quickly, remembering what they discussed earlier. “Did something happen?” he asks instead. 

He thinks at first that Hermann won’t answer, but then, without moving, he says, voice slightly muffled by his arms over his face, “…No…I was…I just felt…shitty today, but…I was actually kind of…I was having a, a nice time, actually…and then, I don’t know, it just…h-hit me really fast. The, ah, um, attack, I guess. It just happened. It…wasn’t ever that sudden before…And I…I c-couldn’t stay in there, any longer…”

They both silently consider that response, and then Newt says softly, “I was having a nice time too.”

“…sorry for…ruining it…” Hermann whispers. 

“No, don’t say that,” Newt says instantly. “That’s - it’s totally - I mean, seriously, don’t feel bad about that.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, course not, I’m not like - blaming you, that would be really fucked up of me. I mean, I should probably apologize too, I was being pretty useless there.”

He thinks Hermann’s silence is confirmation of that, but at least he finally pulls away his hands from his face. Newt is afraid to look at him, scared that he made Hermann cry, but although his eyes are red, there aren’t any tears in sight. 

“Um,” Newt says, and even though there’s so much else to say, he can’t think of anything to bring up now. He’s certainly not done with the idea of Hermann talking to a doctor or therapist about it - there must be medication for something like that! - but Hermann is clearly not open to discussing that right now, and considering all he’s been through tonight, it’s probably best to not antagonize him. “I - I’d like to, um, talk about this more, but…maybe right now _isn’t_ the best time.”

Hermann nods wearily. 

Newt, feeling strangely reluctant to let Hermann out of his sight, unlocks the car doors. “Good night,” he says, and maybe the words come out sounding a little bit like something else, but he’d really like to say that something else right now and maybe put his arms around Hermann and press a kiss to his forehead and then bring him home to his apartment and wrap him up tightly in a blanket and not let go of him all night - and he can’t do that right now. So he says good night instead, and remembers at the last moment to reach in the back and grab the plastic bag holding the leftovers. He’s not even being conniving when he gives both boxes to Hermann. He’s honestly forgotten that his own leftovers are in there too. 

Hermann gets stiffly out of the car, hands Newt his coat, which he still has, and takes the leftovers with a blank look, as if he has no idea of what they are but is far too exhausted to think about it. “Good night, Newt,” Hermann says, and limps heavily up to his apartment building. Newt watches him until he sees a light flicker on dimly in his apartment, and then pulls away.

He makes it to his own apartment purely by force of habit. The instant the door shuts behind him, he sits down on the floor and starts crying, because he just doesn’t know what else he can possibly do at this point. The image of Hermann’s ice white face when he grabbed Newt’s wrist presents itself - the way his voice shook and cracked - his eyes so huge and dark - his freezing hands - and for the first time in months he curls up around himself, like a dead spider. 

Even a dead spider would have been more helpful today than he was. He never wants to feel that helpless again _ever_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say that much as I dearly love Hermann, his attitudes to his mental health are not the healthiest ever and are neither shared nor condoned by me. There is absolutely no shame in suffering from these sorts of issues, and definitely no shame in getting medical or psychological help for that.


	9. Say Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No but seriously octopi can open jars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Say Something by A Great Big World
> 
> this is the video Newt is talking about: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ocWF6d0nelY

February 20, 2014

When Hermann wakes up at six, it’s surely at least the fifth time he’s woken up that night, and he finally gives up on sleeping any more. He doesn’t get out of bed yet, though. Maybe he’ll never get out of bed again, that seems like an excellent plan, at least he can’t _humiliate_ himself here. 

He’s trying to not think about yesterday, but it keeps violently thrusting itself into his mind. He shoves his face into his pillow, trying to loudly think of something else, but in the back of his mind the whole ugly fuck-up plays on an endless loop. 

The fear was the worst part of it all yesterday, but that has faded and now the most painful thing is the shame. It burns coldly underneath his sternum and wraps around his internal organs. He was - yesterday, he was so bloody pathetic, he’s _pathetic_ , he made such a fool of himself - his breath hitches in his lungs, and he sits up all at once, flinging off his blankets and glaring furiously at nothing and blinking his eyes until they stop prickling. 

He makes himself get out of bed then, hoping that moving around will clear his head or at least distracting himself from thinking about how awful yesterday was. His head spins when he stands up, and he reaches blindly out as his vision goes blotchy, hand catching on the cold wall just as he starts to sway. 

The spots clear away slowly, and he waits impatiently without moving. It’s best to not move around when his balance is compromised, considering his leg. This has happened once or twice before, this dizziness, on the days after nights where he slept particularly badly. He considers that it probably didn’t help that he hardly ate any dinner last night. He’d only just begun to eat when the fear crept up on him - _dammit_. Stop thinking about that. 

Head rush faded away, he starts to get ready for the day. He’d really - _really_ \- like to skip school today. Even disregarding how humiliated he feels, how scared he is of that happening again, how altogether miserable he is today; disregarding all that, he also feels terrible. He’s bloody well exhausted, dizzy, light headed, a little nauseous from being so light headed - he knows from experience that the last two will go away if he eats, but it’s really fucking hard to make himself eat when he feels this sick - and he’s really fucking cold. The last one is only because it’s the dead of winter, but it seems unfair, somehow, to be so cold when he also doesn’t feel well. 

But it’s only the second month of school and he’s already skipped once, last month, and he doesn’t have nearly as reasonable of an excuse this time - that day, his leg hurt so badly that he’d physically had a hard time even getting out of bed - so he really doesn’t feel that he can, in good conscience, skip today. His advisor had thought it was better he not come back to school this semester either, and now Hermann feels, perhaps irrationally, that he has to prove her wrong by showing that he can handle this just fine, and skipping school doesn't fit into that plan. 

He’s handling things. He is. He’s _handling_ it, he’s okay, he can do this, he is handling it. 

He can at least alleviate some of his symptoms, if not all of them, so he starts out by putting on his second heaviest sweater. He hasn’t been able to find the warmest one for months now, he’s rather upset about that. He’d been very fond of that sweater, even if Newt said it was ugly, because it was quite warm and he’d been terribly pleased to buy it so cheap from a second hand store. He looked for that sweater for the longest time. He can’t imagine where he misplaced it.

When he’s dressed and brushed his teeth and cursorily ran a brush over his short hair - short hair really is so much more convenient, it had only been a bit longer before because he kept forgetting to get it cut - he forces himself to eat, a simple light breakfast of toast. It’s dry and unpleasant no matter how much tea he drinks it with, but within half an hour he feels much more human and, other than the dragging exhaustion, perfectly ready to face the day.

That’s a blatant lie because the thought of going out and facing humans and possibly humiliating himself again or seeing Newt and god how is he _ever_ supposed to look Newt in the eye ever again - that’s all a bit alarming. But only if he thinks about it. He simply won’t think about it. 

That’s easier said than done, when he doesn’t have class until noon and has hours of free time that can only partially be filled up with studying. Honestly, it’s amazing he gets anything done, considering how often he catches himself frozen in memories of the previous night.

That was certainly the worst panic attack he’s had, and it’s so bloody stupid that it happened, because he had genuinely been having a nice time. Yes, he’d been feeling shitty earlier that day, but it had seemed to fade, and then it - it fucking _crept_ up on him, no wonder it’s called an anxiety _attack_ because he had felt ambushed by it. 

And it certainly didn’t help that they were in a rather crowded place; the instant he had felt it beginning he had looked around at the filled restaurant and been nearly drowned by the fear. He’d needed to get of there. He hadn’t even had the presence of mind to grab his coat, and it was goddamn cold. 

He’d been hoping, somehow, that Newt wouldn’t have to know about it, but of course he was bound to notice Hermann suddenly vanishing. Tendo had been trying to convince him for nearly a month now to tell Newt about the panic attacks, and only now does it seem like maybe Tendo had a point. Hermann hadn’t wanted Newt to know a thing about it, but if Newt had known what it was he wouldn’t have been so confused and clearly terrified last night - and, ignoring the fact that Hermann hates to have scared Newt, it was really not helpful at all to have Newt panicking at his side. 

Hermann hears himself sighing and then realizes that he’s thinking about it again. Fuck.

But really, how is he ever supposed to look Newt in the eye again?

His doorbell rings shortly before eleven, making him start badly. He’s instantly afraid that it’s Newt, actually honest to god _afraid_. He thinks with a wrench of anger how fucking ridiculous and _stupid_ it is for him to feel that way, so even though he’d rather wait until whoever it is goes away, he forces himself to stand up and walks over to the window. He really needs to fix his bloody intercom already. 

His brain struggles for an instant to make the figure below fit into the shape of Newt, then gives up and realizes that it is instead Tendo. 

“Can I come up for a bit?” Tendo shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

“Oh. Um - of course,” Hermann calls back. He hasn’t really talked to Tendo in more than a week now, having avoided him since his fight with Newt.

“Wow, you look like shit,” are Tendo’s first words upon reaching Hermann’s apartment. 

Hermann might deserve that, but he still considers slamming the door shut in Tendo’s face. Instead, he lets Tendo in and says, “Can I help you?” in an impatient voice. That sounds incrementally more polite than _What do you want_.

“I just…haven’t seen you in a bit,” Tendo says. “Wanted to make sure you were still alive and all. Under the pretense of offering you a ride to school, of course.”

“Oh. Well, as you can see, I am.”

“I dunno,” Tendo says, raising his eyebrows doubtfully. “You look at least half dead. At least.”

“I’m fine,” Hermann insists. He has surely said that upwards of a thousand times in the past half year. 

“Really? Because you don’t look it.”

Hermann folds his arms and stares over Tendo’s shoulders as he considers what to say. Tendo is tenacious. Hermann is normally confident in his ability to outlast Tendo, but he’s tired as all get out and doesn’t feel like fighting with him today. It’s probably easier to lie, and the best lies are always moderately based on the truth, so he says stiffly - he can’t seem to give in too easily, that’ll make Tendo suspicious - “I wasn’t feeling well yesterday. But I’m better today.” 

Tendo looks at him closely. “You sure about that? If this is better, I don’t want to know what shape you were in yesterday…maybe you should skip school or something.”

“I told you, I’m _fine_ , just a bit tired from not sleeping well. Nothing to worry about. I’d rather not skip.”

Tendo eyes him up in silence as Hermann sighs impatiently and glares at him. He doesn’t bother trying to look innocent. Trying to look innocent is the best way to look guilty. That’s the reason Newt can never pull off lying - he has a terrible poker face. 

At last, Tendo says, “That doesn’t have anything to do with your terrible mood of this past week, does it? And that terrible mood, I’m sure it has nothing to do with Newt, right?”

Dammit.

“No,” Hermann says shortly, no longer attempting to be convincing in any way. 

Tendo directs his eyes upward as if asking for patience, then looks back at Hermann, folds his arms and says impatiently, “Okay, so this is what’s going to happen, because this is what always fucking happens. You’re going to seem like there’s something wrong, I’m going to worry about you, I’m going to ask about it, you’re going to refuse to tell me or lie to me or both, then I’m going to see Newt and ask him what’s going on, and he’s going to tell me in about five seconds flat because he is completely incapable of keeping a secret. So you see, I’m going to find out no matter what. So why don’t you just tell me now, and save all of us the trouble?”

“It seems such a shame to ruin a pre-established pattern,” Hermann responds coolly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Look, I never asked you to worry about me, I’m sorry it’s such a damned inconvenience to you, feel free to stop at any time,” Hermann snaps. 

“Jesus, Hermann, how can you be so _stupid_ sometimes?” Tendo demands.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s not inconvenient, okay, I don’t mind doing it, although I do kind of mind that you make it so fucking hard sometimes. But, worrying about people, that’s just something that you do, you know? Like, like, the other day, when I was flirting with that cute red-haired girl-“

“The one with the boyfriend?”

“Yes, her, exactly, and you wouldn’t stop going on about her having a boyfriend-“

“He was like twice your height and weight! And clearly about to be back at any second, it was obviously a bad idea-“

“Okay, it wasn’t actually, because he came back after you left and then we totally had an awesome threesome-“

“That’s disgusting, Tendo, I don’t want to hear about that-“

“It’s not disgusting, it was awesome, have you ever had a threesome?”

“No, nor do I ever intend to!”

“You are so wrong-“ Tendo cut himself off abruptly, holding up his hands to stave off any further arguments from Hermann. “Anyway. That’s not my point. The point is, why did it matter to you that she had a boyfriend?”

“Because I expected him to kick your ass.”

“And you think that would be bad?”

“Yes, of course-“

“Why?”

“ _Why_ \- what do you mean, why?”

“Why did you care?”

“Because - I - you’re my friend, I don’t want to see you be hospitalized by some jealous Viking-“

“But I never asked you to worry about me.”

Hermann understands, suddenly, what Tendo is driving at. “Oh, damn you-“

“You get it now?” Tendo asks, smirking smugly. “You’re my friend, so I worry about you. It just happens. You worry about me too, you must, because I can’t imagine why else you would always nag at me about hitting on, as you like to say, ‘inappropriate people,’ all the time. It’s not about me asking you to, or convenience to you; you just do it.”

“That’s-“

“And if you say ‘that’s not the same,’ I swear to god, I’m going to hit you.”

Hermann tightens his lips and doesn’t say anything.

Tendo waits a moment longer to see if Hermann will break, then shrugs. “Okay, so we’re clearly gonna stick to our normal pattern of things because, so far as I can tell, you enjoy being difficult. So now that I’m done teaching you about the magic of friendship, can we please go to school already so I can go hunt down Newt and make him tell me about what happened?”

“Great,” snaps Hermann.

They go out to Tendo’s car in silence, and they spend the whole drive to campus in silence, and Hermann uses that time to think more than he would like about what Tendo said and about whether or not to text Newt and beg him to keep his mouth shut about last night. That would involve talking to Newt, which he still is not feeling up to. The end result of this is that when Tendo parks near a Starbucks - that bloody Starbucks where he shouted at Newt that day in January - Hermann snaps, “I swear to god, if you tell me ‘I told you so’ I will never tell you anything personal ever again.” 

Tendo twists to look at him with a startled expression, but all he says is, “I won’t.”

Hermann crosses his arms and stares at the window, silent for a moment to gather nerve. Then he decides it’s better to simply say it all at once, and he says quickly, “I had a panic attack last night.”

He knows exactly what expression is on Tendo’s face without even looking at him. He’s seen that look enough times to visualize it perfectly. “Oh Herma-“

“Newt was there,” he forces himself to add. It’s hard to even say it. He can see it all over again, Newt wide-eyed and trembling, the edges of the memory blurred and distorted by the way he was feeling at the time.

“Oh,” Tendo murmurs blankly, and then is silent a long moment. At last he says, “You still have time before class, right? Let’s go get coffee.”

“…Fine.”

They don’t discuss it more until they have both drinks in hand, sitting by silent consent on the opposite side of the Starbucks from the window seats, and then Tendo says quietly, “I’m sorry. I know how much you didn’t want that…what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Hermann summarizes the important details in short, stiff sentences, cutting the week long argument down to “we fought” with no details of what about and leaving out most of the niceties of the dinner. The more he thinks of that dinner, the more he regrets it. He’d really been enjoying himself, and now…

He realizes that he’s trailed off and is staring blankly down at the table, Tendo watching him with a concerned expression. “What else?” he asks Hermann.

He’s already… _sharing_ , so he says, “It’s just…telling Newt I’m terribly fucked up and having him see it…is not…not the same. I…didn’t want…” This is so damn hard to say. “I didn’t want him to see. And now…” He hunches his shoulders up miserably as it hits him all over again. Newt really knows now. This is all ruined. “At best, he’ll never look at me the same again. At best.”

“…and at worst?”

At worst he’ll never look at me again. 

The thought presents itself to him, fully formed, as if he had thought it long ago without realizing. As if he had hidden it away and refused to look at it. Hermann stays very still and breathes shallowly until the pain passes. He doesn’t answer Tendo’s question, and Tendo, thankfully, doesn’t push. 

He wonders when that became the worst possibility, and refuses to admit to himself that it never _stopped_ being the worst possibility, not even when it seemed like it had come true. 

At last he murmurs, “I just hate to think of what he must think of me now.”

“Hermann, I doubt he thinks badly of you-“

Hermann scoffs at this, and Tendo shoots him a _look_. Hermann is unimpressed with it. “At the very least, he’s going to treat me differently now. And he was only just starting to treat me - _not_ differently-“ Last night. That was what was so nice about it. Newt was treating him _not_ differently, and Hermann was doing the same, that’s what was so goddamn nice until Hermann went and fucking _ruined_ it. Fuck, he misses that. No one’s ever- It’s never been like that with anyone else. And now it will, once again, not be like that. 

“I think you’re wrong. Just you wait, you’ll see, I’m right, I’m always right, I-“

“I swear to god, if you say ‘I told you so’-“

“I’m not, I’m not!” Tendo insists. Hermann eyes him up suspiciously - and he is privately certain that his own _look_ is far more intimidating than Tendo’s - and Tendo innocently takes a long drink of his coffee.

Neither says anything more for a few more minutes, and Hermann is about to excuse himself to go to class when Tendo says softly, “I appreciate you actually talking to me for once. I know you hate that. I’m just…I really am just trying to, ya know, look out for you.”

“…I’m aware of that. I just…I don’t like…sharing - I don’t see the point in it.”

“C’mon, didn’t this help a bit-“

“I have to go to class now, good bye.”

“Aw, just admit it helped, admit you were wrong, just this once-“

“Not going to happen.”

“Wait, so you do think you were wrong-“

“I’m not wrong. Not ever. Good bye.” 

Hermann walks away as Tendo laughingly calls out, “You’re the _worst_!” 

His classes pass mediocrely. Nothing of particular note happens, but he’s too tired to focus as well as he would have liked, and it frustrates him to think that both today and yesterday were relatively wasted. At least he’s fairly sure that he can easily catch up through independent study. 

Tendo’s classes run longer than Hermann’s do, so Hermann takes the bus home. As he approaches his building from the bus stop, he sees someone standing on the doorstep to his building, pushing at the doorbell for one of the apartments, then tilting his head back to look up at the windows. He recognizes that messy hair and green jacket.

The thought that he could quietly turn away now and walk back to the bus stop - or anywhere other than _here_ \- runs swiftly across his mind, followed quickly by shame at his own cowardice. He’ll have to talk to Newt eventually, he reminds himself, so it might as well be now. He takes the last few steps until he’s only standing about a meter away from Newt, stiffens his shoulder, and says, “Newt?”

Newt jumps and whips around. “Oh! Hermann! You’re - Hi.” 

“Hello,” he answers, trying to not sound nervous, or like he’s secretly terrified of how Newt is going to treat him now. “…are you looking for me?”

“Oh, um, yeah. I figured you’d be home already…guess I was a little early.” Newt laughs, a sound that Hermann recognizes as a familiar nervous tic of his. 

“The bus was a bit slow today,” he says awkwardly. Newt nods understandingly, and then they both stand there looking at each other. Hermann’s mind is alarmingly blank for several seconds, and then he remembers social convention and gratefully latches onto, “Would you like to come up?”

“Oh, um, yeah!” Newt says, but doesn’t move out of the doorway. Hermann stares at him, wondering if the other man is going to say more or if he ought to ask Newt to move, and Newt looks back at him with an expectant expression. Then he jerks, looks at the door behind him, and says, “Oh! I, uh, I’d probably need to get out of the way, wouldn’t I. Ha. Um. Okay.” 

“Um. Yeah. Thanks,” Hermann says as Newt sidles out of the way. Fuck. It’s not as if things have never been awkward between him and Newt - there was that period of at least a month last year, when he thought Newt was dating Tendo, and it was perpetually awkward between them - but Hermann would swear that it has never been this painfully uncomfortable. Newt being all stiff like this is always terrible. Hermann is stiff, he always does being stiff, that’s practically expected of him, but Newt is usually loose and open. Too loose is normally Newt’s problem, not the opposite, so this, is fucking agonizing. 

Newt is acting differently. Hermann knew he would. How could he not? God _damm_ it. 

The act of unlocking the door - Hermann is almost grateful for once when his key jams, because it gives him a clear excuse to not look at Newt - and walking to the elevator covers up the absence of speech between them. And then the ride to his floor is filled up with Newt exclaiming that he didn’t even know this was here and being horrified by how shaky it is. But after that they are in Hermann’s apartment and after he offers Newt some tea - Hermann’s constant solution to any issue - the silence returns. 

When Hermann was young he read the phrase, in some book or other, ‘the silence was deafening.’ He’d thought it was stupid a thing to say at the time, but a few years later he experienced the unpleasant and repeated occurrence of being in a room of five people, not one of whom was saying a word, and then he’d understood. Sometimes, silence is loud. Sometimes it speaks more words than speech could ever convey. He wishes passionately that one of them would say something and shut up the silence. 

“Did you know that octopi can open jars?” Newt blurts. 

Hermann, in the kitchen, turns around sharply to look at Newt. He’s standing in the middle of the living room, jacket balled up in one arm, his eyes wide and anxious. “What?” Hermann says blankly. 

Newt nods jerkily. “Yeah. I, uh, I saw this video on the internet, and, if you put food in a jar, an octopus can open it up. With his little suction pads. It was so cool, it barely looked like the octopus was moving but then all the sudden the jar was open and he put all his little tentacles in there to grab this crab, it was so badass. They’re really smart, and people eat them, and it’s horrifying. Like, you wouldn’t eat a _cat_ , but people eat octopi - or dolphins -and they can’t open jars - it’s fucked up.”

“…what?” Hermann repeats, at a loss for words. 

“I kinda want one as a pet,” Newt continues, his eyes starting to sparkle now, posture loosening. “Not a dolphin or a cat, I mean, an octopus. Not that having a cat as a pet would be bad, I like those too, I’d totally have a pet cat. But I don’t think you can have dolphins as pets. But, yeah, having an octopus as a pet would be really cool. Although, I read somewhere that sometimes they can actually figure out how to escape their fish tanks - isn’t that awesome? So you’d have to be careful with that-”

“What the hell are you do-“ Hermann starts to say, still staring at Newt. Newt stops talking as soon as Hermann does, and Hermann notices that although Newt is much more relaxed now, he’s still got his eyes carefully trained on Hermann as he speaks, clearly watching him. Hermann doesn’t understand what this is. Newt’s acting so - and then Hermann gets it all at once, and abruptly stops talking.

He’s acting so _normally_. Exactly the way Newt would always act. 

“Hermann?” Newt says softly, as Hermann’s silence drags on.

Hermann shakes his head. “Um, no, never mind,” he says, voice a little rough. The kettle starts whistling right then, and he’s exceedingly grateful for the reason to turn away from Newt. He turns the heat down and then stands braced against the counter a moment, taking a deep breath. It feels like he hasn’t been able to breathe right for at least forty eight hours, but now he fills up his whole lungs. He breathes out again, and then sets about getting the tea ready. He’s fully back in control of himself by the time he turns back. “So octopuses-“

“Octopi,” Newt corrects. He has that obnoxious how-could-you-not-know-that tone in his voice that he gets, but he’s also smiling faintly. 

“Whatever,” Hermann snaps, without any sting. “So they can open up jars. So what?”

“So that’s awesome!” Newt says loudly. “I mean, half of humans can’t open jars. Have you ever seen me trying to open up a pickle jar? I can’t do it! It’s fucking impossible, and _I’m_ a genius, but an octopus can open a jar with a crab in it and eat that fucker!”

“Have you tried putting a rubber band on it?”

Newt pauses. “A rubber band - on the octopus? Why the fuck would anyone do that-“

“No, you idiot, on the jar. If you put a rubber band on the jar top, it makes it much easier to open up jars.”

Newt’s eyes widen and he stares off into the distance as if suddenly comprehending strange new ideas. Hermann almost laughs. “Oh my god,” Newt breathes. “That’s- Why did I never think of that?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Hermann says, picking up one of the mugs and walking over to the couch. He leaves the other one on the counter. “That one’s yours.”

Newt walks over to the mug, still looking blown away. “Did you come up with that idea yourself? That’s fucking brilliant, Herm - Hermann.”

Hermann decides to let that slip pass. Newt corrected himself immediately, and he’s far too grateful over Newt’s behavior to get upset again. “No, I did not, that’s like - common knowledge - how have you never heard of that?”

Newt flashes him a relieved glance of his own, and leans against the counter, blowing on his tea. “Maybe it’s a weird thing they only have in England-“

“It absolutely is not.”

“Well, I dunno, Hermann, I can’t know _everything_ \- I know _nearly_ everything, mind you, but not quite everything.”

“Knowing obscure facts about lizards and deep sea creatures does not count as knowing nearly everything.”

“Oh, but knowing weird shit about space does?”

“I never claimed that-“

“It was implied-“

“It was not-“

They bicker, Newt grins at him over the edge of his mug, and Hermann nearly smiles as a relief warm as sunlight sweeps through him.


	10. The Bad Dreams Lead To Calling You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had this great metaphor I didn't get to use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Portions for Foxes by Rilo Kiley
> 
> I feel like I should mention that I know nothing about grad school so I'm mostly guessing and could be totally wrong. Just go with it. Also, sorry this chapter took so long (AGAIN). I have no excuse, to be honest.
> 
> I ALMOST FORGOT TO SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO NEWT

Feb 24 to March 15, 2014

Newt is in a Starbucks - partially because Hermann never goes into Starbucks of his own accord - intently going through a list of articles he found through google when, out of nowhere, Tendo appears behind him and reads “’What to do when someone is having a panic attack,’” over his shoulder.

“Jesus!” Newt squeaks, slamming his laptop shut and jumping. “Where did you even come from?” 

“Science still hasn’t found an answer to that question,” Tendo answers casually, sitting down next to him. “Whatcha googling panic attacks for?”

Newt stares at him wide-eyed, his mind momentarily terrifyingly blank, then blurts, “School project.” 

He’s feeling quite pleased with that response until Tendo innocently asks, “Hermann Gottlieb 101?”

“Wha- No - Do you _know_?” Newt stammers, sitting bolt upright in his chair. Then what he said sinks in and he flinches at his own question. If Tendo doesn’t know, then he’ll certainly at least know something is up now. And Newt is fairly certain that Hermann will literally murder him - and probably Tendo too - if Newt spills the beans on this. 

“Newt, darling, I know everything,” Tendo says, smirking. “But yes, specifically, I do know this. About Hermann.”

Newt is silent for a few moments, processing this. Then he asks slowly, “Did Hermann…tell you?” He manages, through an effort, to not put the emphasis on _you_. 

He must have failed, however, in keeping a hurt tone out of his voice, because Tendo smiles sympathetically and shakes his head. “Like hell. He doesn’t trust me that much, Newt, don’t worry. He - back in October, I think it was, he had one in front of me. He only told me what was going on when I threatened to take him to the hospital.”

“Oh,” Newt murmurs. He frowns, remembering how terrifyingly frightened and lost Hermann had looked in that parking lot, and his heart hurts think of that having happened more than once - it _must_ have happened more than once, because Hermann had clearly known what was going on that time, and he’d admitted to it occurring a few times, and now it seems it’s happened in front of Tendo too… “Do you…know how often this happens?”

Tendo shakes his head. “I only know of two - no, make that three times for certain. In front of you, that time with me, and then, at that time, he mentioned that it had happened at least once before…but…I think it’s happened more than that. Not that he really talks to me about that. Or anything. I was pretty amazed he even told me about the time with you. He’s not real great at sharing, I don’t know if you’ve noticed that.”

Newt quirks his mouth into a smile that fades almost immediately. “Yeah,” he says softly.

Tendo reaches out and pats him on the shoulder comfortingly. “It’s good that you’re looking this stuff up, that’s a good idea.”

He shrugs. “I just felt…really helpless the other day. And, um, I think I maybe made it a bit worse, and that’s no good at all. I - I, even if I can’t make things better, I really don’t want to make it worse. I-“ Newt hangs his head and continues more quietly. “I hate knowing that he’s - he’s having these - sorts of issues. And - he just - he’s so awful at being helped, he hates being helped, but I hate being so useless, but then I feel like I’m being kind of an asshole for thinking about how _I_ feel when _he’s_ dealing with all this awful shit, and I just - want to take care of him…”

Tendo tilts his head thoughtfully, an odd expression crossing his face. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “All grown up, thinking about other people first…”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Newt snaps, jerking away from the hand that is still on his shoulder.

“I’m not,” Tendo says sincerely. “Normally you’re pretty much selfish as fuck, but you’ve…kinda grown up over all this shit. You’re putting the people you care about first. I’m proud of you, Newt.”

“Oh,” Newt says awkwardly. “Uh. Um. I don’t know what to say to that so I’m gonna go with ‘shut up.’”

Tendo laughs. “Oh good, you’re not _too_ grown up.” He settles more comfortably in his chair and asks, “So, this is probably not my business but I have a compulsive need to nose into other people’s lives, so, have you and Hermann, ya know, _talked_ about all this?”

Newt grimaces. “Not…really. I mean, we did a bit afterwards, mostly because I was freaking out and, um, kinda thought he was dying, but the conversation didn’t go real great…we were both pretty upset. I was maybe a jerk? I don’t even know. And then I saw him the day after but…I just kinda figured that Hermann was going to be worrying about me treating him weird, so I was kind of making a point of acting normally. Which I think was a good choice, because he seemed really relieved by that, but it means that we still haven’t really talked. And I want to, but I really don’t know how to start that conversation, especially because I’m pretty sure that Hermann is going to do his best to shut it down as soon as I start.”

“Oh, he definitely will,” Tendo agrees cheerfully. “I tried once or twice, and he was having none of that.”

“He can be so difficult,” Newt says gloomily. 

“You wouldn’t like him if he wasn’t.”

“That’s true,” Newt concedes. “Easy is boring. Hermann is the most difficult person I’ve ever met, that’s probably why I love him s- I didn’t say that.”

Tendo sits up straight. “You did so.”

“No, no, no I did not say that and I don’t feel that and you didn’t hear it and are definitely not going to tell Hermann that I said that. Because I didn’t.”

“I’m not gonna tell him, duh, but he you definitely said that and I definitely heard it.”

“Tendo-“

“Do you, though? Do you still love him?”

Newt contorts his face horribly and runs his hands over his face and then through his hair. Then he drops his hands and admits, “Course I do. I don’t even know how to not, anymore.”

“So…what are you going to do about that?” Tendo asks.

“Do?” Newt repeats. “I’m not gonna do anything.”

“What, are you just planning to wander around pretending you’re not in love with him and just...not do anything about it?”

Newt considers this, then nods firmly and says, “Yup.”

“That’s really healthy, Newt, good job. God, you guys are _crazy_.”

“Hermann's _not_ crazy, he’s just dealing with some shit-.”

Tendo directs his eyes to heaven. “Dear lord in heaven,” he intones, “please help me with my touchy friends that refuse to address their emotions or talk to each other, and instead take it all out on me.” 

“I’m gonna talk to him! But…not about that...not yet at least. And stop acting like such a martyr.”

“You better.”

“You know what, I’m gonna go do it right now!” Newt declares, standing up in a way that he feels is very manly. Then he frowns at Tendo. “Aren’t you Buddhist?”

Tendo shrugs. “Yeah, but, ya know, sometimes you need extra help, ‘specially when it comes to dumbasses like you guys.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Shut up, atheist, go talk to Hermann already.”

“You’re mean,” Newt murmurs sadly as he walks away. Tendo cackles evilly.

 

Newt intends to talk to Hermann, he really does, but…well, that day he texts Hermann to offer him a drive home, and then when they meet up Hermann looks sort of tired and irritated and Newt feels bad bringing it up. And then when he hangs out with Hermann the next day he’s in a rare good mood and Newt can’t stand to ruin that. Then somehow it’s been a whole week of him not mentioning it, and the more time passes the more it seems weird to say, “so about the panic attacks…” or anything like that. He tries to come at in a round-about way, but after the fourth time that fails utterly, he begins to suspect that Hermann knows that’s what he’s doing and is purposely turning the conversation in different directions. Newt finds himself thinking that if Hermann so obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, who is he to bring it up?

Hermann said he was handling it, and Newt should trust him. He would, too, he would decide to trust Hermann and drop all of this, if it wasn't for the shadows under Hermann’s eyes. Newt can’t stop noticing them, much as he tries to. He’s sure they’re getting darker, and as Hermann talks to him in that familiar condescending tone, or as they study quietly, or eat meals together, Newt is staring unhappily at those shadows. 

The closer it gets to midterms, the darker they get. Newt can hardly fail to notice this. They’re spending rather more time together lately to study, although often the only conversation is Hermann muttering equations under his breath or scolding Newt for humming. Tendo is busy too, so a decent amount of the time these study sessions are only Newt and Hermann. Newt even manages, much to his own surprise, to convince Hermann to come over to his place for it. He thinks that maybe Hermann only agrees because he likes things to be quiet when he studies and because Newt’s place is more comfortable than Hermann’s - he has a couch and an armchair, so they don’t have to sit side by side - but it’s still an exciting development. The first time, Hermann looks over at him after about half an hour and snaps, “I’m going to leave if you don’t stop smiling like a serial killer at me.” Newt manages to repress himself with an effort. 

The only real problem is that being around Hermann this much means he notices how exhausted he looks, even beyond the bags under his eyes. Newt worries midterms are getting to him. He said he couldn’t sleep well when he was stressed, right? Well, he certainly seems to be that. Newt doesn’t even know why Hermann is this worried - he’s fucking brilliant, it’s not like he’s going to fail or even get bad grades. And yet, he’s studying much harder than he did last year, and, if the amount he snaps at Newt is any sign, is far more anxious about them. 

So when, one day, they are studying in Newt’s apartment and he glances over at Hermann - he has the couch today, and Newt the armchair - and he’s clearly asleep, Newt doesn’t even consider waking him up. Hermann would probably want him to, but, Newt thinks, it’s bad for him to always get what he wants. So instead he tiptoes over, pulls the book Hermann was studying out of one limp hand, and drapes the blanket he keeps balled up near the couch over him. Hermann makes some soft sound, and Newt freezes, but Hermann curls into the blanket and then goes still without opening his eyes.

Newt lets out the breath he was holding. He reaches one hand out to Hermann’s face, intending to brush back his hair, and then remembers himself and withdraws it. He doesn’t stop looking at him though. It’s been so long since he’s seen Hermann asleep. Even when they were together, it wasn’t something he saw so very often. Hermann tended to fall asleep second and wake up first. Newt had nearly forgotten how Hermann looks asleep.

He looks like himself, but like a version of himself that hasn’t ever been hurt, that has never experienced loneliness or abandonment or fear or pain. He looks delicate and vulnerable and Newt has never wanted to protect him so badly. He wants this version of Hermann to be true. He wants to make it so that Hermann had never been hurt, but he can’t do that, and in fact he was one of the things that hurt him. So he wants, at least, to make sure that Hermann is never hurt again. 

Hermann is sleeping. He can’t hear Newt. So Newt whispers, the words barely perceptible even in the silent room, “I love you, Herm.” Hermann doesn’t even shift this time, and Newt suddenly feels silly.

He decides the light from the windows is enough for him to study by - he’s using his laptop anyway, he doesn’t really need light - and turns off the indoor lights, then sits back in the armchair and returns to studying, resisting the urge to look over at Hermann every five seconds. Everything is quiet and peaceful for an hour or so, and then the silence is broken by an audible gasp from Hermann. Newt flinches and looks over in time to see Hermann jerk awake, white-faced and breathing hard. Newt is on his feet and at Hermann’s side in an instant without even being aware of moving. 

“Hermann? What’s-“ He belatedly remembers the don’t-ask-if-he’s-okay rule, and settles instead for, “What?” and kneels at his side. He runs through his memory, trying to remember the tips of what to do when a person is having a panic attack, trying to figure out if that’s even what this is.

Hermann sits up all the way and buries his hands in his face. “I’m fine,” he growls in a sleep-cracked voice. “It was just…a dream.” 

Newt is fighting the urge to touch him, to wrap his arms around Hermann and rub his back and stop him shaking, or at least to put a warm hand on his shoulder or around his cold hands, something. But he thinks he still isn’t allowed to do that, so instead he rocks back on his heels, bites his lip, and says hesitantly, “…a nightmare?” 

Hermann hisses his breath out impatiently. “It’s a dream, Newt, don’t worry about it.” 

“A nightmare,” Newt repeats, firmly this time, watching Hermann carefully. He doesn’t think it’s a panic attack this time, but Hermann is clearly upset. He stiffens when Newt says that word. Newt shakes his head. How much shit can Hermann possibly keep from him? “Jesus, Hermann, has that been happening a lot? Is that why you look so tired lately?”

“I don’t want to talk about this-“

“No, of course you fucking don’t!” Newt snaps before he can stop himself. 

Hermann pulls his hands away from his face and directs a red-rimmed glare at Newt. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You won’t talk about any of this stuff with me!” Newt says angrily.

“It’s none of your damn business!”

“Oh come _on_ , Hermann!”

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Newt!”

“I know that!” Newt shouts. “I just-“ He cuts himself off sharply and stands up abruptly, backing away and turning so that his back is to Hermann. He pushes his hands through his hair and breathes hard, trying to regain control of himself. 

“ _What_ ,” Hermann snarls.

“I’m trying to not shout at you,” Newt says in a forcedly calm voice, without turning around. “Can you just give me a second?”

“You-“

“Yes, Hermann, I know I don’t need to take care of you or whatever it is you're gonna say, but I don’t _like_ shouting at you when you’re upset, okay, so _give_ me a second!”

Hermann falls bitterly into silence this time, and Newt breathes through his nose and counts to ten because he read somewhere that that’s supposed to help. It doesn’t do that much for him, but guilt over yelling sets in a moment later and that effectively kills his anger. He inhales one last deep breath, and turns around again, feeling somewhat as if he’s heading into battle. Hermann appears to feel the same, considering the stormy expression on Hermann’s face and his stiff posture - he swung around so that his feet are on the ground now and his back against the couch, the blanket crumpled up over his feet, his arms crossed stubbornly - and Newt unhappily exhales that last breath.

“Hermann,” Newt says carefully, “I’m gonna kinda make a speech now, and you’re gonna listen, because this is important and I’ve been not saying it for a while, and I think that was a bad idea. And I don’t want this to be an argument, so please just listen, okay?”

Hermann is glaring at him, but Newt holds his gaze. “Okay?” At last, Hermann nods once, and drops his gaze to his lap. 

Newt nods too, even though Hermann is no longer looking at him. “Okay. Hermann. I do know that you don’t need me to take care of you. I know that you can handle all of this yourself, I fully know that. But I also know that it’s _hard_ on you-“ Hermann jerks his head up here and tries to interrupt, but Newt narrows his eyes at him and says, “You can _not_ fucking deny that, Hermann, okay, just _don’t_ ,” and Hermann snaps his mouth shut, tightening his lips. Newt continues. “It’s hard on you, okay, so the stuff like the nightmares and panic attacks, that all makes sense. And I’m sure you can handle those, too, all on your own, but, God, Hermann, you don’t have to do it all alone, why would you even want to? I just - I just want to _help_ you, I don’t want this to be so fucking hard for you! It sucks, okay, to watch you in pain! And I want to help you, but you are not making it easy! You don’t tell me anything! I was fucking useless when you had that panic attack, I know I was, and now there’s fucking nightmares too and you didn’t tell me about that, and I don’t know what I could do to help with that, but there must be something, Hermann, and I just want to help, and - you know, honestly, if you, if you can’t accept help from me, I understand that, but you _deserve_ help, Hermann, and you should get it from someone. I’m willing, obviously, and if not me, there’s still Tendo, or…I know you don’t want to hear this, Hermann, but maybe you could look into…professional help.”

Newt stops at this point, his heart thumping unevenly. A long silence stretches out between them, far longer than the meter or so between them, riddled with mines. Hermann doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even move. Newt’s not sure he’s breathing. His head is bent, so Newt can’t see his face.

“Please just talk to me,” he begs. 

“I hate being like this,” Hermann says suddenly, without lifting his head. “I hate all of this, and I just want it to _stop_ , I don’t want to talk about it or ask for help, I just want it to stop, Newt. I, I know, that I’m being really horrible, but I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to depend on other people, I don’t _want_ to, why c-can’t I do this on my own, I should be able to, and I’m okay most of the time, I swear I am-“

“Hermann, I know,” Newt breathes, feeling like his heart is breaking. He closes the distance between them quickly, dropping to his knees before Hermann so that he can look into his face. Hermann still won’t meet his eyes. Newt thinks unhappily that he already failed at his earlier resolution to make sure that Hermann was never hurt again. “You’re doing really good, you really are, if I was in your position I’d be - way more messed up. You’re so strong, I just, you don’t have to be that strong. Let me help you. Whatever you need, even if it’s just someone to shout at, just let me _know_.” He, very tentatively, reaches out and puts his right hand over Hermann’s left, which is tightly gripping his knee. 

He can see Hermann’s eyes flicker to that hand, but he doesn’t jerk his own hand away. He nods slowly. “I’ll…try, okay. I’ll try.”

 

There isn’t much sign, at first, of this having changed anything for the better. In fact, at first Hermann seems more distant than before, and Newt thinks resignedly that at least this time he doesn’t seem angry. Newt is hoping for this cold spell to be temporary, but instead of signs of improvement, he gets three days straight without any contact.

Then, on the fourth day, Hermann calls Newt. This is odd for many reasons, even discounting the total radio silence of the previous days. There’s the fact that Hermann hates talking on the phone and knows that Newt feels the same, there's the late time - it’s actually not so much late as extremely early, around two or three in the morning - and then there’s the way Hermann starts the call.

Instead of saying ‘hello’ as a normal person might, the first words out of his mouth are, “You said you want to help me.”

“Hermann?” Newt says, blankly, startled by the sudden call. “That you?”

“Yes, of course,” he snaps, and Newt imagines he can hear the bitch-face even over the phone line.

“Uh. Okay...What?”

Hermann huffs impatiently. “I’m trying to ask for help and it’s not fucking easy so please just come over here before I change my mind.”

“Oh!” Newt exclaims, immediately scrambling to his feet. “Oh! Okay!”

Hermann starts to say something else, doubt already clear in his voice, and Newt firmly interrupts. “Okay, be over in five, bye Hermann.”

“…okay. Bye.”

Newt’s glad that he’s still wearing presentable clothes. He’s in a jacket and shoes in an instant, not even bothering to tie the laces of his sneakers, and out of the door a moment later. He’s not going to take Hermann’s threat of changing his mind lightly. It would be entirely within character for Hermann to icily tell Newt, when Newt arrives, that he changed his mind and doesn’t want help after all. 

Newt could probably make it to Hermann’s apartment quicker, but something about his best friend - or whatever it is that Hermann is to him these days - getting hit by a car has made Newt become a more careful driver. Fortunately, the streets are fairly empty at this time of night, so he still makes good time. He pushes the button for Hermann’s apartment with his heart pumping in overdrive. 

Rather to his relief, Hermann buzzes him in immediately, without even sticking his head out the window to make sure of who it is, or to tell him to fuck off after all. Newt runs up the stairs - like hell is he taking that scary elevator again if he doesn’t have to - and sees Hermann standing in his doorway, looking unusually messy for him with his short hair sticking up and his t-shirt and jeans wrinkled. 

“Hi," Newt pants.

“That was…fast,” Hermann says.

Newt nods and tries to smile in a relaxed way. It’s not easy, not with the discomfort pouring off Hermann in waves. “So, what’s up?” Newt asks.

“Um…” Hermann looks as if he’s at a loss for words, which is unlike him. He glances around, then, with a little start, backs out of the doorway and says, strangely formal, “Please come in.”

“Oh, yeah,” Newt agrees, and walks in, his shoelaces flapping around his ankles. Hermann glances at them with a tiny frown, but doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Sorry for calling you so late,” he says instead, shutting the door but not moving away from his position next to it.

Newt halts in the middle of the room, facing him and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “It’s fine, I was still awake…would have expected _you_ to be asleep though, this late.”

“Yes. That’s. Um. That’s why I called you.”

“Yeah?” Newt prompts when Hermann doesn't say more. 

“This is…really stupid,” Hermann mumbles. 

“I’m totally fine with stupid,” Newt says. “Most of what I do is stupid.”

Hermann stares at his feet, then clenches his hands into fists and looks Newt decisively in the face. “I listened to your whole speech the other day, and this is - I feel really stupid saying this, so it would help if you would do the same."

Newt nods, and backs up until he feels the edge of the couch hit his knees. He sits down on the edge without taking his eyes off Hermann, who doesn’t move away from his position near the door other than leaning some of his weight against the wall.

“So…” he starts hesitantly, and then pauses, his expression, expression distant as if he is remembering something. “I…when I was a child, I used to get really bad night terrors. I would wake up screaming all the time. But I was…embarrassed, I suppose, so I never told anyone. I learned to handle it, and they got better as I got older, although for a while I believe I still had more nightmares than the normal child probably does. And I’ve always been a…restless sleeper. But by the time I was in college, I don’t think I had nightmares any more than anyone else. But, um, that…when the car…hit me. They, the doctors, they put me on morphine, for the pain, and I didn’t react that well to it. It gave me hallucinations and, um, really vivid nightmares, which I was expecting to go away when I went off the morphine, but they…didn’t. Er, well, the hallucinations did, but the nightmares…they became less common, but I still had them. But, really, I could handle it, and they weren’t so often, and were decreasing, but…recently. They’ve gotten worse again, I-I think maybe because of being stressed over school, and…I…I can barely even sleep, this past week or so. And…you said that…that you wanted to help me.”

He stops talking there, a faint flush creeping into his pale skin, and looks at Newt warily. Newt is silent a moment, frowning as he considers all this information. The image of Hermann in the hospital, dreaming on morphine, makes a hollow pain in the pit of his stomach, but he pushes that aside. “What can I do?” 

Hermann turns even redder - when was the last time Newt saw him blushing? - and glances away from him. “Um…this is, this is really stupid. But, um…when I was a kid, uh, I didn’t tell anyone about it, but my sister slept in the room next to mine and could hear when I would...scream. And she used to come into my room sometimes when I would wake her up with that, and sleep in bed with me. It helped. And, uh…w-when we were…together…I-I - this is stupid.”

“No, Hermann, please tell me.”

Hermann sighs and fiddles with his shirt. “I just, I liked…sleeping with you - I, not like that, I mean…Sharing a bed. It was…nice. And I slept better. So, I was thinking…but it’s, it’s really stupid.”

“Oh.” Newt tilts his head, wondering if Hermann is saying what he thinks. Judging by the blush now covering his face and ears, Newt thinks that he is. “So, you think that, um, sleeping together - in the same bed, I mean - that might help?”

“It’s really fucking stupid,” Hermann whispers. 

“No. No, that’s…it’s not dumb. I…” Newt squares his shoulders. “Yeah, I’m up for it, let’s give it a shot.”

Hermann doesn’t respond for a long moment, then says abruptly, “You don’t mind.”

“Nope.”

“I don’t know that it will do anything.”

“Worth a shot, at least.”

“…It’s weird.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s _stupid_.”

“I don’t care, Hermann, if you think it might help, then let’s try.”

Hermann doesn’t say anything.

“… _Do_ you think it will help?”

“I don’t know,” Hermann mutters, then admits, “Maybe.” 

“Let’s try then.”

Hermann nods reluctantly. “Okay. Let's...let's try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you point out that I already wrote a story about Newt and Hermann sharing a bed...to help with nightmares...
> 
> Let ME point out that
> 
> I HAVE A HUGE SOFT SPOT FOR SHARING-A-BED FICS, OKAY, LEAVE ME ALONE.


	11. I Can't Sleep I Can't Speak To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's for _science_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sleep by Azure Ray
> 
> This chapter has some slightly more graphic images - as in blood - and I think it's all super tame but figured I would warn for it anyways.   
> Sorry that this chapter took so long, I had a busy week and it's a pretty long chapter. 
> 
> the story about the rat testicles at the beginning? One hundred percent true. That honest to god happened when I was a freshman in high school.

March 15 - 23, 2014

“This is stupid,” Hermann says, for what feels like the hundredth time that night, and sits up in bed.

He can feel Newt shift next to him, and he sits up too, squinting at Hermann through the dark. “It’s not stupid,” Newt says, and he has also definitely said that far too much this night. 

Hermann's bed is so small. Logically, he knows that his bed’s size is just the same as it was last year, that it only feels different because last year he wanted to be close to Newt, and now he doesn't. Now, his every nerve is on hyper alert for any touch of skin, and each time Newt shifts even an inch Hermann is instantly aware of it. He’s carefully lying as far from Newt in the bed as he can, and Newt is, without having to be told, staying on the far right side, but this bed is fucking tiny and even with this space in between them Hermann can feel how _warm_ he is. He’s like a fucking space heater, how does someone that small produce that much heat?

“It’s stupid,” Hermann repeats. 

Newt sighs. There is a static silence, Hermann wrapping his arms around his chest and trying to decide if he should tell Newt to just leave after all. Then Newt says, “You know how in high school, there were those stupid experiments in science class where you knew exactly what should happen? And they were way too easy for you, those stupid fucking experiments, and it seemed so fucking pointless.”

“What-“

“But you probably did it anyway, because you were a good kid - unlike me, by the way - and even if it did turn out exactly the way you knew it would, it was still a learning experience, or whatever, and maybe every once in a while it would turn out differently. So even though it was stupid, you just gritted your teeth and probably said some condescending shit to your lab partner and you got through it.”

“…So are you suggesting that’s what I do here?” 

“What, wow, Hermann, you really put a lot of meaning into an innocent comment-“

“ _You’re_ stupid.”

Newt laughs, the sound oddly disconnected in the dark room. “Just think of it as an experiment,” he says. “If it doesn’t work tonight than we know that it doesn’t work. And maybe that’s definitely what will happen, but it’s worth one trial run, right?”

Hermann frowns. That sounds so logical. He hates that. “I suppose.”

“Then let’s commence the first trial,” Newt says in clipped, professional tones, and flops back onto his back. 

With a sigh, Hermann reluctantly eases back down, lying on his left side. “I bet you never suffered through those tiresome experiments,” he mumbles.

“Oh hell no, I just tried to blow stuff up. The only time I ever behaved was when we dissected a frog.” 

“I hated doing that. Although, we dissected rats at my school. It was disgusting.”

“Dude, dissecting stuff is great. Way better than those dumb physics experiments where you like, throw balls and time how long it takes it to fall or whatever.”

“A boy at my school swallowed a rat testicle on a dare.”

“Oh my god. No way.”

“It’s true. It was a dare, apparently. He was fine, though.”

“That’s nasty as fuck.”

“Yes. I hated public school, everyone was so…”

“Stupid?”

“…yes.”

“I would imagine that ingesting formaldehyde does that to a person.”

“No, he was definitely already stupid.”

“Everyone’s stupid compared to you, Hermann.”

“…especially you.”

“…that’s fair,” Newt agrees quietly, and the conversation comes to a halt. After what feels like an hour of silence - but is probably only a few minutes - Newt says, “Good night, Hermann.”

Hermann mumbles, “Night,” and resists the urge to change position. He lays still, eyes wide open, listening to the soft sounds of Newt. He knows from the way that he breathes that he’s still awake. He sounds different when he’s asleep, different in some way that Hermann could not quantify and yet recognizes as soon as Newt drifts into it, around ten minutes later. There’s a little whistle in his breath, or the space between inhalations and exhalations is farther apart, or something. Hermann listens intently, trying to figure out what exactly it is that is different, and he doesn’t notice closing his eyes but when he opens them again it’s light in his room and he can hear the sound of someone moving out in his kitchen.

He doesn’t quite understand what’s going on at first, but he’s so warm and comfortable that it doesn’t bother him. He’s tempted to simply close his eyes and go back to sleep, but the sounds out in his apartment are puzzling him. Part of him is saying, _It’s just Newt_ , but the rest of him is wondering why it would be Newt. There’s a reason, but he can’t remember it. 

There’s a louder thump, and the distinct sound of someone swearing. It’s unquestionably Newt’s voice, and Hermann forces open eyes that had drifted shut as he suddenly remembers calling Newt the previous night after lying awake for three straight hours. He glances around his room wide-eyed, then leans over the edge of his bed to pick his phone up off the ground so he can check the time.

The clock on his phone reads eleven thirty. “Holy shit,” he mutters. This is the closest he’s been to sleeping into the afternoon since…he was hospitalized, and that probably shouldn’t count considering he was medicated.

He frowns absently at the time and listens for the sound of Newt. It’s quiet now. He thinks he can smell coffee drifting into the room, but that doesn’t really make sense considering he doesn’t even have a coffee pot in his apartment.

It’s hard to get out of bed. Not because his leg hurts - it feels pretty decent today - but because it’s warm and Newt is waiting out in the living room and the experiment didn’t fail. But Hermann makes himself stand up, walk over to the door, and open it. 

Newt is sitting with his legs folded up on Hermann’s couch, hands wrapped around a Styrofoam coffee mug with the logo of a local coffee shop - not Striker - and his hair sticking up wildly. He glances up as soon as he hears Hermann’s door open. “Oh. Hey. You’re up - oh, did I wake you up? I was trying to be quiet.”

“No, it’s fine…” Hermann answers, leaning against the door frame. “I wasn’t meaning to sleep that late anyway.”

“Yeah…I wasn’t sure if I should wake you up or not, but I, um, decided not to. That okay?”

“Fine,” Hermann agrees vaguely, focusing, instead of on Newt’s face, on his shoulder. He catches himself wondering if this is a dream. Everything feels slightly off in the way that dreams often do when you look back at them. 

“So…”Newt starts tentatively. “How’d you sleep?”

There’s a moment where the word in his mouth is _badly_. And then Newt would apologize and look regretful and disappointed and he would leave, and not be in Hermann’s apartment in the morning sun with his hair rumpled and his shirt riding up a little so that Hermann can see a sliver of freckled skin and Hermann would be left alone with his empty couch and nightmares.

Instead he sighs and admits, “Fairly well, actually.”

Hermann can’t help but flick his eyes up to Newt’s face, so he sees the way his eyes widen and then crinkle, a grin spreading across his face. “Awesome!”

Hermann makes a noncommittal noise in return. 

The smile fades slowly off Newt’s face. “Are you o-“ he starts to ask, and Hermann knows that last word is _okay_ , it's obvious, but Newt stops himself anyway. He’s been better about keeping that promise than Hermann expected, only breaking it a few times. “What’s up?” Newt asks instead.

“No, it’s nothing…” Hermann says, shrugging. 

Newt quirks his eyebrows knowingly. “You were hoping the, er, ‘experiment’ would fail, weren’tcha?” he accuses, a playful tone taking any sting out of the words.

Hermann scowls anyway. “No,” he denies, even though Newt is at least partially correct.

“If you’re not comfortable with it, we don’t have to continue the, uh, experiment,” Newt adds, a little more gently. His repeated usage of the word ‘experiment’ sounds slightly ridiculous, but Hermann is grateful for the distance it creates. An experiment is far less intimate than spending the night in the same bed. 

“No,” Hermann says again, sighing, and stops himself from saying more.

“No?” Newt asks.

“No, I -“ Hermann pinches his left thigh, subtly, he hopes, and even though that’s a ridiculous cliché and does not in any way prove whether or not he’s dreaming - he knows from experience that it’s perfectly possible to feel pain in a dream - it still calms him a bit, helps steady him. “I want to think about it,” he says in a steady voice.

“Okay,” Newt nods. “That makes sense.”

“I’ll let you know,” Hermann offers, and internally winces at how strangely formal it sounds, as if this is a job interview. 

Newt widens his eyes fractionally, a tiny flinch, then he slips a smile back on his face. “Well, um, guess I’ll be going,” he says, standing up and picking his jacket off the couch next to him.

“Oh- You don’t have to-“

“Nah, it’s fine, I have some stuff to do,” he insists, a little too cheerily, and starts walking to the door. “You, uh, let me know whenever. So, um, bye for now.” He’s at the door by this point, and shoving his feet into his shoes, leaving them unlaced again, same as last night. 

Hermann gazes after him, wishing he didn’t feel so off-balance. “Bye,” is all he can come up with to say, although he feels as if he ought to say more. And then Newt, with one last uncomfortable smile, is gone, and Hermann is left alone in his apartment, his very small and very quiet apartment that still smells faintly like coffee. 

His cane is still leaning on the wall next to his bed, but these days it’s not so bad getting around a small space like his apartment without the cane. If he doesn’t put much weight on his right leg and keeps near the walls, he can make it to the couch quite easily. Or perhaps not easily, but not without too much difficulty. He sits on the couch, leaning his head back against the wall. There’s still a warm spot where Newt was sitting. 

He can’t help but think that, although he has had dreams where he feels pain, he’s fairly sure he’s never had a dream where he noticed body heat left behind by another person. That ought to confirm that he’s truly awake. He wonders why he feels so disoriented, then admits to himself that he knows exactly why.

It’s having Newt in his apartment in the morning. It feels so goddamn intimate and yet familiar, like the last - what is it now, ten months? - never happened, and Newt is still his. He looked so natural there, like it was perfectly reasonable for him to be in Hermann’s apartment in the morning with bed head. But Newt _isn’t_ his and it _isn’t_ intimate and, honestly, it _isn’t_ reasonable. This whole thing is fucking weird. This is not something friends would do. 

They’re just friends. They are _just_ friends, so they shouldn’t do this again. Hermann, without noticing he is doing it, nods his head decisively. He feels fine today, he reasons to himself; he ought to be fine now that he’s had a proper night’s sleep. He doesn't need to do this again.

The confidence in this decision stays all day, to the extent that he even texts Newt to say that he thinks it best they discontinue their experiment - Newt responds only with _sure_ , and Hermann absolutely does not spend half an hour wondering what _that’s_ supposed to mean - and then nighttime comes. 

He lies down to go to sleep around eleven and wakes up at twelve shaking and sweating, eyes wide as they can go, unaware at first that he has exchanged the smothering blackness of his dream for the ordinary darkness of his apartment, one hand pressed tightly against his mouth to hold in a scream because if he screams those monsters will find him- and then he shifts a little, and there’s no collapsed piece of wall pinning him to the ground and no savage spike of pain, and the world melts back into solid reality.

He waits until his fingers aren’t trembling anymore, and then he types out a quick text. Newt is there ten minutes later, smiling as cheerfully as if this wasn’t weird - and how come he makes fun of Hermann for being covered in chalk and glaring at patrons at the coffee shop but not for something actually strange like this? - and wearing sweat pants. Hermann feels really fucking stupid, but he also feels tired and he’s so _done_ with that. 

Newt doesn’t even demand an explanation of him, so maybe that’s what prompts him to admit, trying and probably failing to sound casual about it, that he had another nightmare.

They’re standing awkwardly in the living room, and Hermann again, same as this morning, feels a strange dissonance. It’s like two slices of time are happening at once, and in one slice he steps forward on legs that can carry his weight, and puts one hand on Newt’s shoulder, and leans down to kiss him, and Newt goes up on tiptoes to get closer to him and put his hands on Hermann’s hips. And then they go to bed together, and Hermann can see it all so clearly and he doesn’t even know whether it’s a real memory or just his imagination. 

It doesn’t matter, because in _this_ slice, in reality, they will do none of that, and when they go to bed it’s not euphemistic. He doesn’t understand why that hurts a little, why he would like to be in that slice of time instead. He’s the one that made it clear that it wasn’t going to be like that with them. It must be this ‘sleeping together’ thing, it’s obviously a really bad idea, and can only confuse the edges of an already confusing relationship. But on the other hand…on the other hand are his goddamn nightmares. 

He’s so distracted by his peculiar sensation of disreality that it takes him a moment to realize that Newt asked him a question - “Can I ask what your nightmares are about?” - and, instead of carefully considering a response to that as he might have if he were properly paying attention to the conversation, his knee-jerk answer is a sharp “No.”

Newt says “oh” softly and looks away and Hermann feels immediately guilty. Newt is being so much _nicer_ to Hermann than he needs to be, and yet Hermann is still like this. 

“I…I don’t really feel comfortable discussing it,” he says stiffly. And then, as a sort of reparation for his previous harsh answer, he forces himself to add, “Yet.”

“Yeah, dude, it’s fine,” Newt says, clearly trying to sound unaffected. Fuck. Why does he have to do that, why does he have to be so nice and understanding and _nice_ when Hermann is being relentlessly terrible and fucked up? It’s so much better when Newt isn’t like this; only then Hermann remembers how Newt was after the panic attack, and that was not particularly nice or understanding - not that Hermann doesn’t understand why he responded like that - and was certainly not better. Hermann sighs and decides that he’s too tired to think about…any of this. 

“Um, so…” he starts, half turning to the bedroom door, and then trailing off because he’s still not sure how to phrase this or talk about this. 

“Oh, um, yeah,” Newt agrees, and, as Hermann watches uncomfortably, he steps out of his shoes, hangs up his jacket in the miniscule coat closet next to the door, and then turns expectantly to Hermann. “I already brushed my teeth and stuff at home,” he explains. Hermann is a little thrown off by Newt clearly having prepared for this, even down to his level of dress.

Hermann can’t think of what else to say, so he nods and heads into his dark bedroom. He catches himself wishing, certainly not for the first time, that there was a window in his room. Unfortunately, his bedroom does not align with any of the outer walls of the building, so his room is always pitch fucking black at night unless he turns the single overhead light on.

He tried sleeping with the light on, just once. It was too bright for sleeping. It was too bright, and the shame physically hurt, like claws cutting into his chest and ripping his lungs out, until he was choking for oxygen. When he could breathe again he turned off the lights, and never tried that again. 

The sound of Newt’s footsteps follows after him, barely audible. He climbs into bed without a word, getting onto the right side again without asking. It’s funny how they both know that the right side is Newt’s and the left is Hermann’s, only not really funny at all because it’s a holdover from the time when sleeping together did not involve much sleeping. 

Hermann is once again utterly certain that he won’t be able to fall asleep. He feels just as uncomfortable as the previous night with having Newt so fucking close. He comforts himself with the thought that if he _is_ unable to sleep tonight and it turns out that last night was a fluke - a statistical outlier, a false positive - than he’ll have a perfectly good excuse to end this stupid experiment.

He’s still thinking about that when he falls asleep. 

The next day, when Newt asks him how he slept - Hermann’s first to wake up this time, at nine in the morning which is a rather more reasonable time to wake - he says, “Fine,” in a neutral voice. He doesn’t admit to the nightmare, because it was such a small thing, a baby in comparison to the monsters that have been rampaging through his mind the past half a year. He didn’t even wake up from it. It still had teeth, but Hermann is entirely certain that he’d rather have that instead of the dreams he has been having. There’s even a part of him that is rather relieved that Newt’s presence seems to weaken the dreams instead of entirely driving them away - it would be too pathetic if Newt was a perfect fix for his problems.

“So…” Newt asks slowly, “See ya tonight, then?”

Hermann glances at him, then nods shortly. 

They establish a pattern over the next week. Newt shows up at Hermann’s place - Hermann, with admitted reluctance, says that it doesn’t always have to be his apartment, and Newt turns him down with an easy smile - in the late evening, but not too late, usually around ten. On nights when Newt has work late, he brings food, and even though Hermann tells him not to, somehow he always ends up bringing enough for both of them. Hermann wonders at the back of his mind what the hell is up with Newt ‘s apparent newfound obsession for feeding him. Newt also brings over a change of clothes. They go to school together most days, and Hermann feels anxious every time Tendo comes across them together, despite knowing that it’s not at all weird for them to be together in the morning. Newt drove him to school fairly often even before this peculiar arrangement. Tendo should have no way of knowing that anything is any different. On the other hand, Tendo is terrifyingly good at finding out secrets, so Hermann makes sure to employ his best nonchalant expression around him.

On the third night they sleep together, Hermann nearly oversleeps and has to be woken up by Newt which has happened to him…almost never. He never oversleeps. The fourth night he knows he has a nightmare, but all he remember of it when he wakes up is a vague feeling of fear and a sensation of darkness. The fifth night there is, so far as he can remember, no nightmares. The sixth night, he wakes up in the morning and lies in bed for a long moment wide-eyed with astonishment because he can remember dreaming…one nightmare, and one _normal_ dream. It’s peculiar to realize that he hasn’t had any normal dreams that he can remember since he was hospitalized. The seventh night, he has a nightmare, but it is again, not worth remarking upon. 

The eighth night is a Friday night, and he’s vaguely expecting Newt to call him or text him the whole day. He is, in fact, rather annoyed that Newt doesn’t. Of course he’s doing Hermann a favor - a huge, incredibly weird and vaguely uncomfortable favor - and is in no way required to do it, but it’s still good manners to let a person know if you aren’t going to come to a pre-arranged meeting. 

He’s startled when Newt shows up at his door like normal at ten, and feels rather stupid when he realizes that of course the reason Newt didn’t let him know that he wasn’t coming, was because he was planning to come. 

Perhaps because he’s surprised, or perhaps because he still is and always has been a socially awkward _prick_ , but the first thing he says when Newt mounts the stairs, before even letting him in, is “What are you doing here?”

Newt looks at him like he’s crazy, which is not a look Hermann has ever appreciated receiving. “What do you mean, why am I here? It’s - Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hermann uncomfortably rubs the short hair on the nape of his neck. “Well, I - I assumed you would be…” He shrugs stiffly, trying to find the word, and settles on, “out.”

Newt looks at him more closely, still as if he thinks Hermann is losing it, and gives a tiny, uncomprehending shake of his head, before repeating, “Out?”

_Is he being difficult on purpose?_ Hermann wonders. “You know,” he says, and gestures vaguely in the direction of the front door. “ _Out_. Like…at…bars, or clubs, or…whatever the hell it is you do. I wasn’t expecting you to come over tonight.”

He looks as if he understands a little better now, but his words make Hermann think he does not actually get it. “Yeah, but…well, I know you like to go to bed early, and I wouldn't have time to drink much or whatever.”

_Not being difficult, just being stupid_. Hermann sighs, his shoulders slumping a little. He doesn’t particularly want to say this. “You know, Newt,” he says carefully, working hard to keep his face and voice neutral. “I don’t expect you to spend every night with me. I’m fine on my own. You can…go out.”

Newt smiles in a puzzled way. “You know I could still come back to your place afterwards even if I do go barhopping or whatever?”

_Oh my god, he really does not get it_ , Hermann marvels, staring at him with wide-eyes. He can feel his face starting to turn red, and there’s an uncomfortable twisting in his intestines. “I meant…um…I meant, if you want to…to spend the night with…someone…else.”

Newt gasps, “Oh!” and he too, sincerely to Hermann’s surprise, begins to blush.

Newt never blushes. He could say the most ridiculously filthy things to Hermann in public in broad daylight in a perfectly audible voice without any apparent sign of shame or embarrassment, and yet now he’s blushing. Hermann catches himself beginning to wonder whether or not Newt is sleeping with other people, which is a ridiculous thing to think, which is - which is not worth thinking about. 

“Yeah,” Newt stammers, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Um. That. Uh - yeah, if you…don’t mind?”

He hates how much it feels like a lie when he dismissively says, “Of course I don’t.”

Newt nods, a few times too many, and says, “Well, I guess I’ll - go. Um. Bye.”

He hates that it kind of hurts to say, “Bye,” and to watch Newt walk away. At least the stairs aren’t far. He’s out of sight in no time, and Hermann can close the door behind him, alone again in his apartment.

Of course Newt is sleeping with other people. And not in the literal sense, like with Hermann, but metaphorically. Of course he must be, it’s _Newt_ , that’s the sort of person he _is_. There’s a _reason_ he’s best friends with Tendo Choi. There’s a reason he wanted to break up with Hermann before going off to Germany; he may not have explicitly said that was why, but Hermann can read between the lines. Newt’s not like Hermann, who is uncomfortable at the thought of sex with anyone he does not have feelings for. Hermann once, early in their relationship, asked him about his sexuality, and Newt, with a wink, had said, “Anyone that’ll have me.” (Hermann, if he recalls properly, had hit him lightly when he said this.) And Newt is- Newt is Newt. So surely lots of people would be willing to have him. It must be lots of people, Newt is smart and funny and cute and covered in freckles and knows simply ridiculous amounts of trivia and- there are surely loads of people willing to have him. He’s probably breaking hearts left and right. And it’s been ages since he and Newt broke up, so of course he’s sleeping with other people. He’s probably just being subtle about it, not bringing it up or flirting with strangers when Hermann is around out of consideration of their complex history. 

He ought to be glad that Newt is sleeping with other people. That would seem to support the idea that he is over Hermann, romantically speaking, which of course is what Hermann wants. Of course it is. This friendship, strange as it is, that’s all he wants. And the only reason that thinking of Newt with someone else physically makes him feel ill is that…it’s just a holdover from when they were together. It’s not jealousy. It doesn’t hurt. 

It does hurt when he jolts awake around three in the morning, heart pounding and leg stinging badly with the memory of the dream. He was running in this one, or trying to, but his leg was torn apart by the enormous monster that was chasing him, so that he was limping down a destroyed street that looked like it belonged in a post-apocalyptic movie, leaning on crumbling walls as blood ran down his leg and the monster leisurely paced behind him. He sits up in bed as the fear fades too slowly, gasping for air and running his trembling hands over his face and sweaty hair. It’s so fucking unfair, can’t he have this _one_ goddamn night, can’t he at least have the fucking _illusion_ that he’s not so broken apart that he can’t even sleep without someone there besides him? Why - why does he need Newt for this, that’s so fucked up, why does he need anyone ever, why can’t he just be enough on his _own_ \- it’s so fucked up to need someone, and it’s not fair that-

That he needs Newt and Newt doesn’t need him at all. 

He presses a hand against his face until it doesn't feel like he's about to cry and his heart is beating at a rate that approximates normality. He’s tempted to get up and turn on the light, but his leg is aching - this may be a psychosomatic pain, but it hurts nonetheless - and he feels far more tired than before he went to sleep, so instead he lies back down. The fear of the dream is still percolating in his mind, so he isn’t really expecting to go to sleep, but he slips back into unconsciousness within the hour, no more dreams coming to haunt him this time. He thinks unhappily the next day that that actually counts as a pretty good night for him, even if that dream had been particularly vicious; certainly better than how it had been in the week or two before he and Newt started…their experiment. Of course, before that, the nightmares had been coming far less often. He’s still blaming midterms for the return of his dreams, but they are mostly over now, so why aren’t the dreams gone?

He wonders all day if Newt will be coming that night, or if he will also be… _out_ , this particular evening. The closer it gets to ten, the jumpier Hermann gets. It’s a little disconcerting to discover how much he wants Newt to show up, and telling himself it’s only because of the saw-edged dream of the night before sounds hollow even in his own ears. 

Ten comes and goes, and Hermann folds his hands into knots and pretends to not look at the time. He’s entirely given up on Newt, and feeling uncharitably angry about it considering that yesterday he told Newt it was fine to do this, when his door buzzes at ten thirty and he suddenly remembers that Newt is always late and rarely comes at exactly ten. 

He’s not sure why he gives Newt a once-over with his eyes when he reaches the top of the stairs. It’s not as if there would be any obvious marks left even if he did get laid last night. What is he expecting, a giant hickey on his neck? They aren’t teenagers anymore. He doesn’t let himself remember that he did give Newt visible hickeys - more than once - and had been secretly pleased with the look of it, with the way that it seemed to declare to the world that this person was _his_. 

“Hi,” Newt says, fortunately oblivious to Hermann’s quick scan. 

“Wasn’t sure you’d come tonight,” Hermann says, aiming for nonchalant and instead landing distinctly in cold and distant and perhaps a little disapproving. 

Newt shrugs lightly, apparently unaffected by Hermann’s tone. “Didn’t feel like, uh, ‘going out’ tonight,” he says, and then adds, a little more nervous, “That okay? You still wanna continue our, er, experiment?”

Hermann nods. He considers saying something gracious like _I’m glad you’re here_ , but he’s a cold-hearted, emotionally stunted bastard so all he does is step out of the door way so that Newt can come in. 

“How’d you sleep last night, by the way?” Newt asks. 

“Fine,” Hermann says, because he is a liar and has been for ages so why bother stopping with that now?

“Oh, that’s good,” Newt responds brightly. “Maybe you won’t need m- the experiment soon.”

Hermann wonders if the word he almost said was _me_. “Hopefully,” he murmurs noncommittally. 

They both have this whole process pretty much in hand by now, so soon enough they are both in bed, and asleep not long after.

It’s a new dream tonight. His nightmares tend to repeat with only a few variations so that he hasn’t had any new ones in a while. Even the bloody and terrifying one of the previous night was one he’d had a few times before. But tonight it’s new. Tonight, he’s standing on a street; a dark residential street with a turn off into a park that Hermann cannot see but nonetheless knows is there. There are no streetlights, but the plastic stars stuck haphazardly to the sky are blazing brilliantly, casting down a white light so that he can clearly see the figure walking on the shoulder of the road, a short young man with messy brown hair and glasses. And he can see the monster behind him, crouching on the road, pouring light in twin LED beams from its malevolent eyes, but the young man - _Newt_ \- doesn’t seem to notice. The monster growls and bares glowing blue teeth, and then it’s running and Hermann knows what’s going to happen, he knows, he _knows_ but it doesn’t stop it from happening and he can’t move he can’t make a sound and there’s blood everywhere, always both redder and darker than you would expect, and then Newt is lying there on the side of the road, crumpled up in a bloody heap, still in a way that makes it so very clear that he is - and then, thank god, Hermann wakes up. 

He doesn’t jerk awake this time, as he often does. He’s simply awake, lying on his side with his eyes wide open, shaking all over, small and empty and cold. His eyes won’t stop prickling even though no tears are falling. He can’t seem to stop himself from shaking. The dream is vivid in his mind, far more detailed than a real memory would be, so that he can even remember that Newt had freckles in his dream, can remember the precise shade of his _blood_ as it sprayed across the dewy grass-

He claps a hand to his mouth and for a moment sincerely thinks he’s going to be sick. He doubts he could make it to his bathroom in time, but he still ought to try- but his stomach is heaving so nastily that he’s afraid to even move in case he makes it worse.

He takes deep breaths and tries to swallow even though his mouth is painfully dry, and eventually the nausea passes, leaving only his heart thudding in his chest and an unpleasant sensation in his throat. He pulls his shaking and clammy hand away from his mouth, and, cautiously, tries changing position, rolling onto his back so he’s staring at the ceiling. His stomach has calmed enough that this move does not provoke a return of the nausea. 

He’s still trembling. He’s fully certain that there’s no way that he’s going back to sleep tonight- he doesn’t _want_ to go back to sleep, not when that dream might be waiting for him. He wasn’t afraid when he was dreaming, not in the same way as the other dreams, but he’s scared now, of seeing that dream again, of feeling the things it did make him feel, of having to watch again as Newt is- 

Newt makes a soft, wordless sound next to him, and shifts in bed, rolling closer to Hermann and flinging one arm around him, curving it lightly around his shoulders. Hermann goes completely still, eyes opening up wide again, staring at the false stars on the ceiling. They were so much brighter in his dream. 

Newt is so warm. He feels so warm as his body weight presses lightly onto Hermann, he's warm and alive and he makes tiny noises in his sleep and moves around and he’s alive. And Hermann, this whole past week, was scared of this happening. Newt moves a lot when he sleeps. Back before, no matter what position they fell asleep in, Hermann would wake up with Newt sprawled on top of him, and he’d been nervous that would happen again, that Newt’s body would not know what his mind did, and Hermann is _so_ incredibly stupid and was scared of all the wrong things. 

He thought it would feel strange, when Newt finally touched him again, that it would feel wrong or meaningless or would make him feel even lonelier, but instead it feels…like Newt. It feels like being alive, and warm, and safe, and like-

Sometimes he’s okay. But sometimes he’s not okay, and it’s hard to imagine that he’ll ever be okay again. Sometimes it feels like he’s trapped under a collapsed building, and he’s never going to get out, he’s never going to see the sunlight again, he’ll never feel happy again, he’ll never smile or be normal or be unafraid of ordinary things or not have nightmares or be wanted and loved or will want and love, ever again- It doesn’t always feel like that, it happens less and less often these days. But sometimes it does. Sometimes it’s hard to believe. And this, Newt lying next to him, tossing one arm over him, and now he’s pressing his face up against Hermann’s shoulder and Hermann can feel Newt’s breath on his arm, and this feels like believing again. Not like he is okay, yet, but like he can believe that he will be one day. Maybe even soon. 

And he forgives Newt. It just sort of happens. He turns his head until he can look at Newt’s sleeping face, squinting at him in the dark room, and he can just barely see the outline of him, that dear and familiar face, and he forgives him. 

He hadn’t even realized how much anger and bitterness he was holding onto until it’s gone. Newt left him, Newt broke his heart and abandoned him because he was scared of commitment or wanted to fuck other people or some equally shitty reason, he wasn’t there when Hermann needed him (and Hermann could _know_ that was his fault, not Newt’s, but it didn’t stop him from holding it against Newt), and then he came back when Hermann didn’t want him to and he saw all of Hermann’s worse moments and he wasn’t Hermann’s, not anymore, but- 

But Hermann somehow doesn’t care. Or, maybe that’s not quite it, he still cares, it all left a scar that will always be there and he might even still be angry about it, although he isn’t right now. But he doesn’t blame Newt anymore; he doesn’t hold it against him. Newt came back, he’s here right now, and he’s Newt. He’s this precious person who makes that sleepy sound that doesn’t mean anything but it was exactly what Hermann needed to hear in that moment, and Hermann forgives him. 

It’s odd. Hermann still feels terrible - hurt in a raw, sickening way deep inside him - from his dream, but forgiving Newt is a sensation that he thinks will be good when he doesn’t feel awful. He’ll probably be happy about it later. Right now, he wants to cry. But he still hates crying, so instead he closes his eyes and slides a little closer to Newt, turning his head even more so that he’s breathing Newt’s hair. He still uses the same hair product as he did before, and Hermann has always secretly liked the faint, crisp smell. There’s warmth radiating all up his side from Newt, and his shivering fades at last. He still doesn’t that he can fall back asleep, but he presses himself all up against Newt, and Newt unconsciously draws him closer with the arm wrapped against him, and it all helps to slowly drive away the horror. 

He does fall asleep again, after several hours quietly curled into Newt, drifting off into a light sleep some time in the small hours of the morning and waking up again a few hours later. He’s alone in the bed, on his side in the center of the mattress, and he blinks with half-asleep confusion at the space that had contained Newt. He wakes up most of the rest of the way and realizes that Newt must have left the bed already, as on the first morning they did this. Hermann closes his eyes again, contemplating going back to sleep, and then abruptly remembers his dream of the night before and snaps his eyes back open. He’s not willing to risk it, not when Newt is not there, he doesn’t even care if it’s cowardly. 

It takes him a little while to get himself around. He’s a little dizzy from the previous two nights of bad sleep, which almost feel worse for being backed by a week of fairly solid sleep, but it’s nothing he can’t handle, and soon enough he’s walking out into the living room. 

He experiences mild déjà vu on seeing Newt sitting on the couch in much the same position as a week earlier, but this time with his hand wrapped around one of Hermann’s mugs. He’s staring intently at nothing, and doesn’t seem to notice Hermann until he sits on the couch next to him. Then he starts violently, nearly dropping his mug, and turns a violent shade of red. 

“Morning - are you okay?” Hermann asks with a frown. Newt’s reaction seems rather unwarranted. 

“Yup,” Newt says very firmly. “Um - I, uh, made you tea.” He gestures vaguely at the table, where Hermann sees another mug is sitting. “You still don’t have any coffee, and last time I just ran out to get some, but um, I didn’t want to today, so I made tea - but it’s probably kinda shitty, definitely not as good as yours.” 

Hermann frowns at this peculiarly long and nervous explanation, but all he says is, “Thank you,” and picks up the mug. It isn’t as good as his, he has to admit, and he wonders how Newt managed to screw up putting a tea bag into hot water. 

“So, um, how did you sleep?” Newt asks, and then winces and transfers his gaze to his mug. Hermann wonders if he ought to inquire more about his odd behavior, but instead shrugs internally and reminds himself that Newt is often strange.

In the spirit of having forgiven him and all, Hermann quietly admits, “I had a nightmare. But it was okay.” Honestly, he ought to tell Newt that he’s forgiven him, and this could lead into that.

Newt looks back at him, his eyes going wide and concerned, the apparent embarrassment of a few moments ago disappearing. “Really?” he says, voice squeaking a bit. “You should have woke me up or something!”

“Oh.” Hermann hadn’t even considered that. “I - It was fine, after a bit. I didn’t need to.”

“How long is ‘a bit’?” Newt demands.

Hermann shrugs. “It was a few hours, I think.”

Newt stares at him. “Jesus, Hermann,” he mumbles. 

“It’s not normally that long,” Hermann feel s compelled to say, a bit defensively. “That one was particularly bad.”

Newt sighs and shakes his head a little, then tilts his head curiously, eyes softening. “I know you shut me down last time, but…can I please ask what your nightmares are about?”

_Oh._

Hermann sighs and adopts Newt’s strategy of staring into his mug. His voice sounds like it’s coming from someone else when he says, “…okay.”

He can feel Newt start beside him. “Oh. Okay. Um…so, um, what…what do you dream about?”

Hermann considers that he really doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to see Newt’s pitying face, and Newt might feel guilty when he hears that most of the content of his nightmares centers on something introduced to him by Newt. Yesterday the concept that Newt would have guilt might have pleased Hermann. Today it’s the opposite.

Still, he probably ought to tell Newt, at least let him know what it is that he’s helping Hermann with. 

“Um…I, I’m not sure why this is what I dream about-“ That’s not entirely true but not entirely false, either - “but, I…dream about...monsters.”

“Monsters?” Newt echoes. “Like what?”

“Like…giant ones. Kaiju, I believe you said they were called.”

He’s watching Newt out of the corner of his eyes, so he can see the way he goes still all over, face turning curiously blank and still. “Kaiju?” he repeats slowly. “Like… _my_ kaiju? Like, Godzilla or whatever?”

Hermann nods. When Newt doesn’t respond, he says briskly, “It’s really not so bad most of the time. Really, it’s silly - it’s not like they scare me or anything, in real life. I just have peculiar dreams.” Newt is still not saying anything, so Hermann, starting to get alarmed, hastily adds, “Most of the time the worst part is the building collapsing, not the kaiju-“

This incites a response at last, Newt saying in a horrified voice, “Collapsing?!”

Hermann grimaces. “In the most common dream -“ 

Newt whispers “’ _Most common_ ,’” sounding even more appalled, and Hermann wonders if he’s making things worse. Nonetheless, having started, he forges on.

“I’m in a building, and I can see one…” he hesitates and then reluctantly admits, “or sometimes more, of these large monsters in the distance, and then they come closer and, I suppose, attack the building I’m in, and then it collapses on top of me and pins me down, which is rather alarming.” It doesn’t sound alarming out loud. In the dream it’s terrifying, he’s choking on dust and alone in pitch darkness and trying not to scream from the pain because he can hear the monster walking around and he’s afraid to let it know where he is…but explained aloud it just sounds mildly strange. He’s feeling rather pleased with this until he sees the expression on Newt’s face and knows at once that Newt sees through all his bullshit. “I’m sure it was just a reaction to the shock of the impact, I had it first right after the accident, so really it’s just…it’s just…dark.” He lost that explanation, it wasn’t meant to end there, but the dark is…what makes it really unbearable. He keeps wondering, whenever he has that dream, where the stars are, and if he would live long enough to see them again. And then he wakes up into his dark bedroom, and that doesn’t help. He’s not scared of the darkness…but he doesn’t necessarily like it either. 

“God, Hermann, that sounds…terrible,” Newt says quietly. “I’m…I’m really sorry. That’s…I mean, I don’t know if you’re mad about me about that, but I…can totally understand why you would be…”

“I’m not,” Hermann says simply. “I…I was, at first, because I don’t think I would have been dreaming about these things if it wasn’t for you, and they are _not_ awesome, but I’m sure my mind would have found something else to have nightmares about instead.”

Newt scans his face, then nods. “Still. I’m…I’m still sorry. That you’re even having nightmares at all, that really sucks.”

Hermann cannot deny the truth of this, so he doesn’t say anything.

Newt asks tentatively, “But, um, am I helping? With the dreams? Since you still had a dream last night…”

“Oh, no,” Hermann exclaims. “Or, I mean, yes, you are helping. I was-“ He stops himself an instant before saying that he was glad Newt was there, next to him, that it made him feel safe- that’s all a little too far. “It helps,” he says instead. 

Newt smiles a little. “I’m glad.”

Hermann decides to ignore the little flicker of warmth that runs through him at that smile and focus instead on drinking Newt's mediocre tea.


	12. You're Such a Good Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Boo Radley is not actually an alien.  
> Or is he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from So Nice So Smart by Kimya Dawson
> 
> This past week was my first week of the semester so that's my defense for why this chapter took so damn long.

March 25 - April 2, 2014

On Tuesdays, Newt has class early in the morning and Hermann doesn’t have classes until the afternoon, so he doesn’t usually drive Hermann to school on that day of week- but he does usually drive him home. But on this particular Tuesday, around two in the afternoon, Newt receives a text from Hermann reading _I didnt go to school today I dont need a ride_. Newt knows that he’s insane when he frowns at the missing apostrophes and comma, but…Hermann is very strict about spelling and punctuation, especially in texting. Those missing punctuation marks, combined with the content of the message, instantly have him worried. He spends the next five minutes agonizing over a response that will ascertain how Hermann is without antagonizing him.

_U ok_ is obviously right out, along with _Something wrong?_ He contemplates a simple _Why_ but dismisses that quickly, as, if there really is an issue, Hermann will most likely lie if Newt directly asks. In the end he writes, _Not feeling well?_ , figuring that it inquires about Hermann’s state without being invasive or implying anything negative.

Hermann takes ten minutes to reply - Newt absolutely does not go insane with worry in that time period - and then texts back _…kind of. But Im ok._

This is not the most satisfying response ever, but at least it tells Newt that something _did_ happen, but not something world-ending. He frowns at his screen, worrying some more. Again, he carefully considers his next message.

_See u tonight?_

Hermann responds more quickly this time. _Yes see you then._

Newt takes that as a good sign. If Hermann was in real mental straits he would probably tell Newt to fuck right off and leave him alone - not that Newt would give in that easily.

He probably shouldn’t, but the result of worrying about Hermann for the whole rest of the afternoon is that he decides to head to Hermann’s apartment earlier than normal, showing up closer to nine than ten. Hermann answers the door, looking tired - but nowhere as about-to-fall-apart tired as he had looked before they started their experiment - but not displeased to see Newt. He doesn’t remark upon Newt being early, which Newt thinks means he doesn’t mind.

“So…can I ask what happened today?” Newt asks, taking off his shoes as Hermann sits on the couch.

Hermann looks down, rubs his face, and growls, “I had a stupid fucking panic attack again.”

“Oh no,” Newt says involuntarily, straightening up sharply to look at Hermann. “Are you…” He remembers his promise to not ask if he’s okay and trails off.

“I’m just _pissed_ ,” Hermann says loudly. “It wasn’t as bad as last time, but - I haven’t had one since then! It’s been a month, I thought it was over, and then today it happened for a stupid reason and I’m so tired of this! And it literally made me nauseous and I _hate_ this!”

“That…really sucks,” Newt says, searching for the appropriate words. “Um…can I ask why? It happened, I mean?”

For once, Hermann doesn’t make him ask. Newt thinks he might be too agitated for that. “I hate the fucking bus!” he yells.

“The bus?” Newt asks, thrown off.

“It’s crowded and I hate when people try and offer me handicapped seating even though I am fucking _handicapped_ and it was really crowded today and I just - couldn’t do it. I had to get off after only one stop and I, I couldn’t get back on after that! So I just walked home, after…after I could breathe again.”

Newt shoves off his other shoe - which he had been in the process of taking off when he was distracted by Hermann - and comes over to sit next to Hermann, who has an expression on his face like he can’t decide whether to be miserable or furious. “I didn’t know it was like that,” Newt says softly. “Dude, you know I can drive you, right? I mean, the scheduling will need some work, but if it’s that bad, we can figure out a way for you to avoid it-“

Hermann abruptly seems to decide on _anger_. “I don’t _want_ to avoid it!” he shouts, standing up and limping a few steps away, and turning to direct a glare at Newt. “I can’t just avoid all the things that makes me anxious, soon I’ll be avoiding everything and never go outside! I’ll become the creepy shut-in in the weird house that small children are convinced is haunted and dare each other to ring the doorbell of, and I don’t want that!”

Newt blinks at Hermann, his brain struggling to process this eccentric train of thought, and then, because his brain is a stupid, inappropriate place with very small impulse control, he says, “Yeah, but Boo Radley was my favorite, I totally had a crush on him in high school.”

Hermann opens his mouth, then shuts it again and says blankly, “What?”

“Uh- that was a dumb thing to say-“

“Who the hell is that?” Hermann asks, frowning, but, Newt is surprised and pleased to note, in a much less upset way.

“Dude, I thought you went to high school in America, how could you not have read _To Kill a Mockingbird_? I thought you were referring to him.”

“I don’t know, we didn’t read it - why the hell are you referring to it?"

“Well, there’s this character called Boo Radley - that’s not his real name - the kids in his neighborhood call him that - because he’s a shut-in that lives in this creepy old house and never comes out, and there’s all these rumors about him in the book.”

“And _that_ was your favorite?”

Newt smiles up at Hermann. “What can I say, I like weirdoes.”

“You are completely ridiculous, do you know that?”

“Yeah,” Newt admits. “Sorry for derailing your rant.”

Hermann sighs. “I was getting rather off topic…”

“Nah, dude, I know what you mean,” Newt says sympathetically.

“It’s just…” Hermann starts, eyes downcast again, “I _do_ want to simply avoid things like the bus that are…upsetting. But I’m afraid to, to lose control of it, agoraphobia is associated with panic attacks, and sometimes that makes way too much sense to me, and…I don’t want to become ‘Boo Radley’, I want to get better.”

Newt bites his lips, thinks that he’s about to get shouted at again, and tries to say it anyway, “What about therapy?”

Hermann clearly anticipated Newt, because the glare makes a return and he snaps, “ _Don’t_ ,” before Newt can even start to say the third word.

“Okay, okay,” Newt mutters, then starts again, “But you know there’s no-“

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Hermann snarls.

“Why are you so against this?” Newt asks, refusing to shut up.

“I don’t need help from some stranger to fix my stupid fucked up brain! Needing someone to help me because I’m, I’m scared of stupid things, I would exp-“ He stops all at once, eyes widening as if he heard something unexpected, a quick unreadable expression flashing across his face. Newt does not recognize that expression, but it hurts, somehow; he’s sure it’s an expression of pain.

“Hermann?” he says, half starting up, gazing anxiously into his face. That strange expression is gone, having come and gone so quickly that Newt wouldn’t be sure it was there if not for the way that Hermann has now gone blank now, shoulders slumped and eyes totally dark as only happens when he is truly hurt. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Hermann mumbles. “I - Never mind. It’s not- I-“

Newt does stand up now, and takes a step closer to Hermann. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, reaching out a hand to touch him and then withdrawing it, uncertain of whether it’s okay to touch him. There was Sunday - but now is not the time to think about that.

“I just…thought of something stupid. Um…” he looks at Newt at last. “Look, I’ll, I’ll think about it okay, so can we…not talk about this anymore?”

It’s probably not good that Newt would agree to anything when Hermann looks at him like this. He probably should keep pushing, that would probably be best for both of them. But Newt is weak and when Hermann looks at him, he’s scared that to push, or to even touch, will shatter Hermann apart - and that’s ridiculous because Hermann is far stronger than that and it would take more than Newt to break him - and he couldn’t bear to do that. So he says, “Yeah, of course,” and fights down an urge to hug him.

When they go to bed that night, Newt, for once, doesn’t fall asleep quickly. He lies on the far right side of the bed and wonders about that expression, and tries to not think about waking up Sunday morning. It’s difficult, though, because those two moments feel connected in his mind, a line drawn between opposing moments. There was space between them today, a conversation marked with moments when he wanted to touch Hermann and couldn’t. On Sunday morning…

Sunday morning, he woke up with Hermann’s face a scant inch from his, so that he could count every long eyelash, and his body curled up under Newt’s arm. And Newt forgot that they weren’t together, that he wasn’t supposed to touch, he forgot there were rules, he forgot the entirety of the past ten months. He’d been seconds away from kissing Hermann, and then he remembered.

There’s distance between them, now. Maybe Sunday wasn’t the opposite after all, because being closer to Hermann for a moment had ultimately only served to remind Newt of the space between them, the same space he had seen today. He’s not allowed to touch, even if he wants to.

He _does_ want to, and the horrible thing is that that desire has been increasing lately. He’d expected it to fade over time, that the farther away they got from the break-up, the more he’d view Hermann as only a friend. That had been true at first, but he finds himself worrying that possibly he hit the limit of his ability to view Hermann as a friend and not as…more.

Newt sighs and shifts uncomfortably in bed. He starts counting sheep until he decides that doesn’t really help, and then, in the midst of trying to find something else to distract his mind and stop him from thinking inappropriate thoughts about Hermann’s eyelashes, he falls asleep.

 

Wednesday nothing noteworthy happens. Then, Thursday, as Newt is wandering aimlessly around campus in the half hour block between two of his classes, Hermann texts him, _I don’t need a ride home today_. Newt promptly starts worrying again. At least there’s punctuation this time.

_Something happen?_ he dares to ask.

_No, something came up unexpectedly._

_/Something?/_

_Newt, I only have limited texts so if you’re going to ask ridiculous questions I’m not going to reply to you. See you later._

Newt can perfectly hear Hermann’s bitchy tones saying this, and he smiles a little. It can’t be anything too serious if he’s giving Newt attitude.

_See ya_ , he texts back, then jams his hands and his phone into his jean pockets, tilting his head up to look at the sky, blowing a sigh out into the air. It’s no longer cold enough for that to make a cloud on the air. The sky is a clear, wide blue today, and the light breeze smells like fresh water. There might still be some freezes on their way, but spring seems to be coming after what feels like a goddamn long winter.

It’s been nearly a year since he and Hermann broke up - _no_ , he thinks, _since I broke up with Hermann_. And it’s been pretty much _exactly_ a year since Hermann told Newt that he loved him. Newt tries to not think about that, but it’s hard sometimes, when Hermann is lying right next to him. Sometimes he can’t decide whether it’s good that he can remember that night in crystal detail. On the one hand, it kinda interferes with the whole friendship thing. On the other hand, it’s the only time that Hermann ever explicitly said his feelings, and will probably stay that way, so to forget that night would be to lose all possible memory of Hermann saying that.

Newt drops his gaze from the sky, trying to refocus on his surroundings instead of on bittersweet past memories. He glances around, realizing he doesn’t know exactly where he is anymore. It looks like somewhere on the edge of campus. There’s a used bookstore to his left, one he’s been in once before, and that helps him locate himself. He flicks his gaze over it, then stops and looks more closely in the shop window. Then he grins and walks over to it, pushing the door open.

 

When he gets to Hermann’s apartment that night, he smiles and hands Hermann the small book. Hermann takes it with a startled expression, reads “ _To Kill a Mockingbird_ ” out loud, and rolls his eyes.

“You are so ridiculous,” he informs Newt.

“Dude, it’s actually a pretty good book, it’s kind of a travesty that you’ve never read it.”

Hermann rolls his eyes again instead of answering, and steps out of the doorway, walking over to one of the piles of books around the edge of the room and putting it on top. Newt follows after him, kicking off his shoes and dropping himself on the couch. “I’m gonna quiz you on that,” he threatens. “Like a real quiz, not just bullshit questions you could get the answers from by reading Spark Notes.”

“I’m offended, Newt,” Hermann says sternly, turning away from the pile of books to look at Newt with a disapproving expression. “As if I would ever cheat by using a website like that. Honestly, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Newt laughs. “You’re right, I apologize.” He looks up at Hermann thoughtfully, and still carefully maintaining his smile and casual tone, asks “So…what was your ‘something’ today?”

The faux scowl slides off Hermann’s face, leaving behind something more distant and thoughtful and, Newt thinks, not entirely happy. He crosses the room to sit next to Newt, perching on the edge of the couch at an angle so that he’s partially facing toward Newt. “I…I will tell you,” he says quietly. “I promise. But…I don’t want to talk about it just yet, I need…I need time to think about it.”

“Oh,” Newt murmurs, startled by the serious intent of Hermann’s words. If anything, he was expecting to be yelled at again and told to fuck off. He scans Hermann’s face. “…if it was anything really… _bad_ , you’d tell me, right?”

Hermann nods. “It’s not anything bad, I swear,” he says. “Really, you’ll probably be pleased about it. I just…don’t want to talk about it yet.”

“I’ll probably die of curiosity, but I’ll do my best to wait,” Newt says solemnly.

“Oh well, if that’s all it takes to kill you, I’d have tried it ages ago,” Hermann mutters, and Newt grins, comforted by the belief that whatever it is Hermann is keeping from him, it can’t be too bad, not if Hermann is making these sorts of sarcastic remarks.

“You with the jokes and the threatening to kill me,” he teases. “Why, I remember the first time you threatened to kill me, it was like barely our second or third meeting-“

“Who says I was joking?” Hermann says calmly, and Newt can’t decide whether to be scared by the deadly gleam in his eyes or to be amused that the expression on his face is the same as the one he made that first time he threatened Newt’s life.

 

Hermann doesn’t talk about it to Newt until Saturday. Saturday morning, Newt’s feeling lazy and instead of leaving quickly as he might have done - as he would have done, only a week ago - he’s sitting around Hermann’s apartment watching him read _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and making a nuisance of himself. Hermann looks cute when he reads, with the way he frowns intently at the page and squints his eyes. Newt bets he’ll need reading glasses when he’s older. _God, that’ll be fucking adorable_ , he occasionally catches himself thinking, and does his best to bury those thoughts.

“Have you got to the part where it turns out Boo is actually an alien yet?” he’s asking when Hermann’s cell phone rings. ‘Rings’ might not be the right word, Newt thinks. It’s more of a sad moan.

Hermann shoots him a severe look and pulls the phone out of his pocket. Newt hardly even gets a twinge anymore when he sees the cracked screen and imagines the force of impact that left that break. Hermann is using his professional voice - the one that Newt thinks makes him sound like someone shoved a stick up his ass _really hard_ \- as he takes the call. It’s not a long one, mostly constructed of Hermann saying “yes” and “thank you,” but whatever it is the person on the other end of the line is saying makes Hermann’s spine stiffen and his face blank out. At the end of the call, he hangs up and looks at Newt, one hand loosely holding his cell phone, the other flexing in and out of a fist.

“Who was that?” Newt asks, sitting up.

Hermann swallows, his eyes wide as if trapped. “Can you give me a ride?” he asks, in a quiet voice.

“Sure,” Newt answers immediately, compelled by the anxious urgency in Hermann’s voice. “Um, what is it? Where do you need to go?”

Hermann casts his eyes to his hand still holding the cell phone. “There’s a pharmacy about two or three miles away that I need to go to…”

“Okay…um…w-“

“I’ll explain, but…not right this second, Newt, it’s, it’s too-“

“Hermann,” Newt says quietly, suddenly recognizing the expression on Hermann’s face from a certain cold night in a certain parking lot. “It’s okay. Just take a second.” When Hermann stays perfectly still, so stiff that Newt’s muscles ache from looking at him, Newt adds, as gently as possible, “Breathe.”

Hermann’s eyes flicker back up to his face - for a second Newt is certain that he’s about to discover that Hermann was in fact not joking those times he threatened Newt’s life - then he nods and visibly inhales a deep breath, and then exhales. Newt doesn’t say anything more until Hermann’s posture relaxes and he mutters, “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Newt says, then, because he can’t help himself and he might have already depleted his being-an-adult reservoir for the day, he asks, “You sure?”

Hermann punches his shoulder. “Yes,” he snaps, and Newt smiles ruefully and makes a show of rubbing the mark even though it hardly hurts.

“Stop whining,” Hermann orders, and Newt is pleased to note that he now sounds entirely like himself. “Go get your shoes on.”

“I’m not doing this out of obedience,” Newt tells him as he gets up and starts putting his shoes on. “It’s only painful curiosity compelling me.”

“Whatever it is you tell yourself,” Hermann agrees, fighting with the laces on his shoes.

“You need help with that?”

“I do not need help tying my _shoes_ , Newton,” Hermann snaps, and Newt snickers. It’s not until they get down to the car and Newt pulls out into the street that he realizes that Hermann hasn’t called him 'Newton' in…ages.

The pharmacy that Hermann has in mind is quite close by car, even if it is a little far to walk, and it’s not long before Newt is parking outside the convenience store. Hermann doesn’t move. Newt glances over at him - noting with an uncomfortable prickle that the panicked expression has returned to his face - and says softly, “Should I come in with you or something?”

Hermann looks back at him, his eyes searching desperately for something. He must find it, because he squares his shoulders and says firmly, “No, I’m fine.” And, after another moment, he opens the door and gets out of the car. Newt watches as he marches determinedly into the store.

“I’m seriously gonna die of curiosity if he doesn’t tell me what’s going on soon,” he mumbles to the empty car, leaning back in his seat and listening to the radio murmur inoffensive songs, the kind of music that you can’t get passionate about. It’s the only radio station that both Newt and Hermann can agree to not horrendously dislike, as they have extremely differing music tastes most of the time. Hermann has objectively horrible taste in music.

He said that to Hermann one time, and Hermann immediately started ranting about how “that is _your_ opinion, Newton, and therefore is _subjective_ , not _objective_ -“ and then they had an argument ranging from the definition of objective to how awful each of their music tastes might be considered to what even made music good anyway. And this was back when these sorts of trivial arguments between the two of them generally concluded with kissing, and indeed on this particular day Hermann had, at some point, snatched Newt’s glasses off of his face, shoved him down on the couch, and-

The song on the radio ends and a commercial starts playing loudly, jerking Newt out of thoughts that are, objectively, totally inappropriate to be having at this moment. He sits up straighter, blinking several times, and focuses his gaze on the doors of the CVS. Not long after, the automatic doors slide open to reveal Hermann, holding a small paper bag - Newt instantly recognizes it as being the sort that you get medication in, which he supposes makes sense considering that Hermann had made it clear he wanted to go to the pharmacy - and with a grim expression on his face. He heads directly to Newt’s car, climbing in wordlessly and immediately burying his face in his hands.

“Um…” Newt starts uncertainly.

“I’m fine,” Hermann rasps.

Newt hesitates, looks at Hermann, then nods and simply says, “Okay,” and starts the car.

Hermann seems to have calmed down by the time they reach his apartment building, but he doesn’t say a word more until they’re both in his apartment. Then, the instant the door shuts, he says, “I _am_ going to explain.”

“Okay,” Newt agrees, doing his best to keep the raging curiosity off of his face.

Hermann says, “On Thursday-“ then stops with a frustrated exhalation. Newt sits down on the couch. Hermann remains standing, worrying the small bag in his hands. There is clearly something the shape and size of a pill bottle in the bag. He shifts his weight a little, then starts again, taking on a disinterested tone, as if he were explaining a scientific or mathematical concept to Newt. Normally Newt hates when he gets like that, the way he seems to suddenly distance himself completely from Newt, but today he lets it slide.

“It turns out the school offers a certain amount of free…therapy to the students, so I…scheduled myself an appointment. That’s where I was Thursday. And the psychiatrist I went to see, he prescribed me...anti-anxiety medication. Which is what this is.”

Newt doesn’t move until he’s certain that he really heard what he thinks he just heard. “Dude,” he breathes, once he’s certain. “That’s…whoa. You went to see- That’s great - why-“ He stops himself, and says firmly, “That’s great. That’s really, really great. I’m- I’m glad.”

Hermann doesn’t say anything more, the distant expression gradually replaced by the previous one of anxiety. He takes the bottle out of the bag and looks at it unhappily.

“So…are you going to take it?” Newt asks slowly.

“Yes!” Hermann snaps, without making any movement to do so.

“Uh-huh…um….wh-“

“I’m going to do it! I’m just…This is just…I…Fuck!”

Newt opens his mouth to say something more, and then closes it again. “What changed your mind?” he asks, instead of pressing Hermann more. “Tuesday you were dead-set against therapy, what changed your mind?”

Hermann turns his gaze from the bottle to Newt. “I know that therapy isn’t something a person should be ashamed of,” he says, sounding as if Newt had just claimed the opposite. “I…simply didn’t feel that it was…for me. But when I was talking to you the other day, I realized that…” He trails off with a sigh, then abruptly starts what at first seems to be an unrelated topic. “My father has very strong ideas. He…firmly believes in a person doing things for themselves. That one should be strong enough to take care of themselves, that needing help from others is a sign of weakness. He certainly wouldn’t approve of something like therapy. I don’t think he even really believes in mental illness. I disagree with my father on- on many things. But I realized that I may have, ah, internalized some of his ideas, and that my reluctance might come from that. Which is, which is _stupid_ , so…”

“Oh. That’s…” Newt hesitates, and then says, “Can I say that your dad kinda sounds like an asshole?”

“He is,” Hermann agrees. He glances at the bottle of pills again and says, “He’d be very…disappointed if he knew that I was doing this.”

“If you ask me…” Newt says delicately, “That’s a pretty good damn reason to do it.”

Newt doesn’t fail to notice the corner of Hermann’s mouth twitch. “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Hermann murmurs. Then he nods - Newt suspects for his own benefit, not Newt’s - and walks into the kitchen. Newt watches quietly as he gets out a glass, fills it with water, opens the bottle, and swallows one of the small pills, washing it down with the water. He’s smiling when Hermann turns back to him.

“Will you hit me if I say I’m proud of you?”

“ _Don’t_ make a big deal out of it.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” Newt agrees. “I’m just…I think this is great, that’s all, I’m pleased. For you. Because this is really good.”

Hermann scowls at him.

“So, how’d it go?” Newt asks. “The first session, I mean.”

Hermann doesn’t answer right away, leaning up against the counter and continuing to frown. Newt suspects that he won’t say anything about it, which certainly wouldn’t be out of character for him. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he tells Hermann, feeling as if he ought to let him off of the hook considering all he’s already done today.

“No…it was just…odd. Unexpected. I’m not sure how to describe it,” Hermann answers.

“In what way?”

“Well…for one thing, the, er, psychologist, he rather looked like he ought to be in the Russian Mob.”

Newt lets out a startled laugh. “Oh my god, what?”

“He was very intimidating!” Hermann exclaims. “The man must be nearly seven feet!”

“Oh my god,” Newt says again, laughing properly now. “There’s no way!”

“I’m not joking, Newt, it’s not funny!” Hermann insists, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face.

“It’s kinda funny.”

“It’s not. Anyway, he was actually rather nice. He introduced himself and spent most of that talking about how much he loves his wife and his dog - which looked like a wolf, by the way, he had a picture and I would swear it’s a wolf. Named Alpha. And his wife also looks like she’s in the Mob. It was all very peculiar.”

“Well, I’m glad that your mobster psychiatrist is nice. And loves puppies.”

“It’s not funny, Newton.”

“Dude, it’s pretty funny. So…are you gonna go back?”

“…Yes, I think so.”

“That’s great,” Newt says again, smiling.

“Shut up,” Hermann mutters.

“So, will that medication help with making you less grumpy, or…”

“You’re a truly terrible person, do you know that?”

“I do,” Newt agrees solemnly.

“…it’s supposed to take a few days before having any effect, anyway. And the effects are supposed to be somewhat small. And it won’t make me less ‘grumpy’ so you’ll simply have to continue to _endure_ it, if you can manage that.”

“I suppose I’ll do my best,” Newt says with a long-suffering sigh, and then adds, “Besides, I’d probably miss it if you stopped being crotchety all the time.”

“I feel like I’m an old person when you call me ‘crotchety.’”

Newt looks at Hermann sympathetically. “Oh, Hermann, I hate to be the one to tell you this…”

“What?” he says sharply.

“You are an old person.”

“Oh, shut _up_.”

Newt cackles and Hermann rolls his eyes.

Newt spends nearly the rest of the day with Hermann, making sarcastic remarks and pretending that he is not at all checking to make sure that Hermann is as okay as he seems to be after everything that happened that day. Surprisingly, he seems to be. He responds to Newt with equal sarcasm, he doesn’t do that thing he does when pretending to be not upset where he stares into the distance with a lost expression when he thinks Newt isn’t looking, he eats properly, and when they go to bed that night he apparently falls asleep before Newt. Newt looks up at the ceiling - he was so surprised the first time he noted that Hermann never removed the stick-on stars - and wishes he felt more relieved by Hermann’s seeming okay-ness - _is that a word?_ he wonders - but instead he’s worrying about a delayed reaction. Tomorrow, or the day after, or even the day after that, he’s certain there will be something. Herman’s good at bottling up his feelings, but that can’t stick forever. The cap will come off of the metaphorical bottle. Newt resolves to keep an eye on him, to wait for that, but subtly, because if Hermann realizes that’s what he’s doing he will insist that he’s perfectly fine and that Newt is wrong.

 

It turns out Newt is not wrong, but it takes four days for that to become apparent, so that Newt has nearly stopped looking for signs. It’s a Wednesday, and Newt is over at Hermann’s apartment for their typical arrangement, and they are arguing, but not properly. They’re arguing in the way that they argue, shouting at each over a trivial topic with no real heat behind the words, because it’s fun to engage with someone that can keep up and understand you and won’t think you’re crazy. Or perhaps, Newt sometimes thinks, it’s not so much that Hermann doesn’t think Newt is crazy, as it is that he doesn’t seem to mind.

Today, they’re arguing about the concept of artificial intelligence. The argument, stupidly enough, was started by Newt making a passing reference to the Terminator franchise and casually adding, “not that AI is possible.”

Hermann, sitting on the couch, is taken aback. He drops his book, and Newt - who is kneeling on the floor, inspecting one of Hermann’s piles of books - sits up and grins. “Of course AI is _possible_ , what do you mean it isn’t possible, just because it doesn’t _exist_ yet doesn’t mean it isn’t possible!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermann, that’s just a dumb pipe dream, there’s no way-“

“What the hell would you know, Newt, you don’t even know the first thing about coding or computers-“

“Yeah, but I know how brains work and you don’t-“

“How is that relevant-“

“You need a brain to think, Hermann! There’s no thinking without brains!”

“ _You_ seem to manage _admirably_ without a brain!” Hermann snaps.

Newt gasps, reeling backward slightly with his mouth wide open. “Oh, so you wanna make it personal-“ he squeaks, his voice coming out about two octaves higher than he meant for it to, and Hermann starts to laugh.

Then he goes very still, face freezing into a blank, shocked expression, the only movement his hand coming up slowly to trace the corner of his mouth.

“Hermann-“ Newt says, already starting to stand up, all the silliness of a moment ago vanished from the room.

“I smiled,” Hermann says faintly. He looks at Newt. “I haven’t smiled since August.” And then-

Either someone just punched Newt in the stomach, or a vacuum appeared in a corner of the room and sucked all the oxygen out of the room. But either of those would presumably impede movement, and Newt’s not sure he’s ever moved so fast in his life. He’s at Hermann’s side in a second, gasping, “What is it?”

Because Hermann is _crying_.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, pressing his hand against his mouth and shutting his eyes tightly. “I’m not- I’m _not_ crying.”

“What’s wrong?” Newt asks anxiously, hovering near his shoulder, forgetting that he’s not supposed to ask that.

“Nothing,” Hermann mumbles, as more tears slide out from under his closed eyelids, tangling in his eyelashes. “I’m not - I d-don’t cry, Newt, I _don’t_ -“

“But- Why- What’s wrong?”

“J-just leave me alone-“

“I’m not going to leave you alone when you’re crying!” Newt says loudly. “Why- why are you crying?”

He opens his eyes at last, the tears - Hermann is crying - gleaming over the dark irises, and takes a short shaking breath, and says, the words coming out as a sob, “Newt- _A car hit me-_ “

“Oh. Oh, Hermann,” Newt says, because he doesn’t know what to say and he can actually feel his heart - or maybe Hermann’s heart - cracking inside his chest, a few new fissures to join the old ones. “I know,” he breathes, and he sits next to Hermann and puts his arms around him.

Hermann’s arms come up against Newt’s chest, and he’s expecting to be shoved off - from the way Hermann’s hands are flat against him, he must be surely planning that - but instead, his hands clench into fists on Newt’s hoodie, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of Newt’s neck and sobs again. Newt can feel the tears, hot on his skin.

“Oh, Hermann,” he murmurs again, tightening his arms and rubbing his back. He glances up at the ceiling and blinks furiously until his eyes stop prickling.

“I’m trying s-so fucking hard,” Hermann gasps, the words muffled against Newt’s neck and distorted by his shaking.

“I know, I know, you’re doing so good,” Newt says.

“B-but I, I c-couldn’t even f-fucking smile, and, now, I’m fucking c-crying!”

“That’s okay, Hermann, that’s okay, you can cry.”

“I don’t _want_ to!”

“Sometimes to smile you have to cry,” Newt says, and really he’s just making shit up, he’s completely bullshitting his way through this because Hermann is crying and Newt has no idea how to handle that. He has to say something, and he thinks it even sounds kind of good and maybe makes sense.

“That’s bullshit!” Hermann chokes out furiously, so maybe it doesn’t make sense.

"Sorry," Newt murmurs.

After that Hermann mostly cries without saying a word, short, jagged sobs that tear out of him painfully at irregular intervals, as if he’s trying to hold them in - which Newt suspects he is - and hot tears that soak into Newt’s hoodie. Newt holds onto him and rubs his back and tries to say comforting things without saying stuff like “don’t cry,” because that’s not very helpful and honestly he thinks that Hermann probably should cry. It’s healthy to cry sometimes.

Eventually - after what feels like an eternity of holding Hermann closely and feeling his heart break - Hermann’s sobs start to slow and he begins to breathe more evenly. Newt can feel his death grip on Newt’s sweater loosen slightly, but he doesn’t pull away yet.

“Better?” Newt asks softly.

“No,” Hermann growls, his voice rough. “I- I hate crying.”

“Crying is supposed to make you feel better.”

“I just feel like shit.”

Newt winces sympathetically - he too has had experiences where crying, instead of helping release emotions, has simply left him with a headache and eyes hurting from salt - then pulls back a little, without letting go all the way, to try and see Hermann’s face. Hermann looks back at Newt long enough for him to see the red eyes and cheeks still streaked with tears, and then a flicker of shame runs across Hermann’s face, and he looks down. “Hermann,” Newt says as gently as he can manage, “Why were you crying?”

Hermann pulls one hand away from Newt to scrub viciously at his face, and he too shifts a little farther away - but still doesn’t break the contact between them - and mutters, “I just…I…you made me laugh. And I really…haven’t done that since…And I thought about that, and it just…it was like everything I was…holding onto, it all hit me at once and I just…c-couldn’t stop...”

Newt can see the way his face crumples again, and suspects from the way he presses his hand against his eyes that the tears started again.

“Oh, Hermann,” Newt says again, helplessly, and pulls him back into his arms. This time Hermann, after a moment’s hesitation, also wraps his arms around Newt.

“S-sorry about this,” he whispers, the words barely audible.

“Don’t apologize,” Newt says firmly. “It’s okay. Everyone cries sometimes.”

“I don’t. Not usually. Haven’t cried in years.”

Newt frowns. “Not even - not since you…got hurt?”

He can feel Hermann shake his head _no_.

“Well, Jesus, Hermann, no wonder,” he mutters. “Hold it in that long and of course you’ll break down at an unexpected moment.”

“That’s stupid. Not crying doesn’t make you more likely to cry later.”

“It’s science, I swear.”

“It is _not_.”

“Hey, who’s the biologist here?”

“You’re full of shit,” Hermann asserts against his neck.

Newt laughs softly. “That may be true.”

This time, Hermann is the one who sits up and draws back slightly - again without breaking contact between them - to look Newt in the face. “Um…Newt…Thank you for…um. All this. And staying with me, even when I’m….like this,” he says softly, a flush creeping across his face.

“Of course,” Newt says, smiling. “Really, dude, I don’t mind at all. There’s nothing you could do at this point to drive me off.”

And then somehow Hermann is kissing him.

Newt’s mind blanks out entirely, his normally chaotic busy mind for one eternal instant empty of every thought, thinking nothing, feeling everything, feeling slightly chapped lips and salt and damp cheeks and eyelashes brushing his skin and warmth and Hermann and right. Then at least fifty thoughts are crossing his mind at once - _what_ and _shit_ and _fuck I forgot how good this is_ and _he’s kissing me_ and _what do I do_ and then _oh no_ and _this is a bad idea_ and _don’t-touch-him_ and _should I just go with it_ and _no_ and _don’t-act-romantic_ and _but I want to_ and, more firmly, _THIS IS A BAD IDEA._

His hands are still resting on Hermann’s back - he can feel his ribcage under a layer of shirt and skin - and he lifts them up and puts them on Hermann’s shoulder and pushes him away gently. Hermann moves away without any resistance, staring at Newt with his eyes wide and his cheeks red. His eyelashes are still wet with tears, so that they look even longer and darker than normal. “S-sorry,” he stammers.

“This is a bad idea,” Newt says quietly, and he can see - and feel, through his hands still on Herman’s shoulders - him flinch. His eyes go even wider.

“W-what-“

“We shouldn’t do this. Not- It’s a bad idea.”

“Newt-“

Newt stands up suddenly, losing his balance a moment and staggering an uneven step back. “I should go,” he murmurs, his mouth dry and his voice crackling. He should go, because if he stays an instant longer he will sit back down and kiss Hermann, kiss away the stains of tears on his face, kiss him until Hermann goes stiff and pushes him off and glares at him, and will it be worse if he shouts or if he refuses to talk to Newt ever again? And he will. He’ll remember that he doesn’t - and then Newt will not only not have Hermann as his, he won’t have Hermann at all. And it’s not fair - It’s not fair to Hermann.

So he - and it feels as if it takes all the willpower he has, and then some more that he didn’t know he had - turns away from Hermann and crosses the room, shoving his feet into his sneakers and grabbing his coat of the closet. Hermann says his name again, in a tiny, shocked voice, and Newt pulls out some more willpower and doesn’t look at him. He opens the door. He walks out into the hallway.

He shuts the door.


	13. You're So Nice and I'm In Love With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sasha/Aleksis story is probably the best thing I've ever written and is meant to be read in a thick Russian accent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from I Hate Seagulls by Kate Nash and okay this time I'm going to demand you listen to that song while reading this because it's perfect. 
> 
> Shout out to my roommate for being the sort of person that, when asked to make up a name for a gay bar, answers, "The Popsicle Stand." Shout out to HIMYM b/c I totally stole the second bar name from them. 
> 
> Oh I forgot to mention last time, the whole thing about the school offering some free therapy sessions, that, at my college at least, is true, which I think is wicked awesome, and wanted to maybe spread that knowledge around.

April 2 - 5, 2014

He shuts the door.

Hermann stares at the closed door. The edges are going blurry, the light diffracting into sparkling splotches. He doesn’t move, not even to wipe away yet another tear that is falling. He doesn’t understand. 

It’s not the worst pain he has ever felt. So many things have hurt worse than this. It’s probably not even in the top five. But it hurts. It hurts a lot. 

He _kissed_ Newt and Newt _walked away_.

And it was a stupid fucking thing to do, he doesn’t know why the hell he did that, he just- Newt was just there, and smiling, and so close, and being so fucking kind and good and _Newt_ and Hermann kissed him. And it was stupid but Newt didn’t have to leave. 

He _left_. He left _again_.

It’s not the same but it feels like last time. He’s cold all over again. And, again, he watched Newt walking away from him and he didn’t stop him, he just let him leave. Last time he barely even said a word. And he regretted that for months and months; that he sat there and didn’t say a word and let Newt leave him without even a fight. And now he’s doing it again?

“Fuck,” he whispers, and at last drags his hands up to his eyes to furiously dash away the tears still pooling there. His eyes hurt. Is that supposed to happen? He doesn’t remember that from the last time he cried, but, to be fair, that was freshman year of undergrad, more than five years ago. “Fuck this!” he says more loudly. Newt can’t have gotten very far yet.

He looks at the door again, then shakes his head minutely. Newt’s probably on the ground floor by now, so there’s no way that Hermann can catch up to him. He’s starting to be able to handle stairs, but not quickly, not four floors, and he’d probably end up literally falling at Newt’s feet and hurting himself worse.

That would be _so_ fucking attractive- not that he hasn’t already fucked that up today- fuck, he cried on his fucking shoulder, no wonder he shoved Hermann off when- _Stop it_.

He can’t chase Newt down. So, then, the window. Hopefully he can catch Newt walking out of the building and- do something. He stands up, hissing angrily when the blood instantly rushes to his head, clouding his vision. He’s never going to cry again in his goddamn life, he feels terrible and tired and now his head is pounding. 

The head rush clears quickly, fortunately enough, and he limps over to the window, not bothering with his cane. It’s only a few steps; he can handle that easily these days. It’s a bit more of a struggle to haul the window open - he’s shaking, god, this is all _really_ unpleasant - but he manages to open it and stick his head out moments after Newt walks out the front door. 

He doesn’t give himself time to think anymore before he’s shouting furiously, “ _Newt_ -“

Newt jumps and spins around, tilting his head up to look at the window. He’s too far away and the light spilling out of the building is too harsh for Hermann to properly read his expression, and Hermann’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or not. “Hermann-”

It’s not that that his brain suddenly goes blank or that he can’t think of what to say. He can think of plenty things, like yelling “You fucking _bastard_!” or apologizing or trying to explain - although honestly, he doesn’t know what the explanation would be - or saying “Come back - please don’t leave-“ There are plenty of things he could say. But he looks at Newt through eyes that are still annoyingly blurry, and he can’t get a single word of it to come out of his mouth. What _should_ he say? What will make things right? What's even right anymore?

He must wait too long, because Newt shouts up at him, “Look, let’s just forget about it, okay?”

" _What?_ "

Newt glances at the ground, then back up at Hermann. “I…think it’s best if we, um, take a few days. I’ll…call you later.”

“Wait-“ Hermann says, but Newt waves jerkily and turns away again. And then he’s properly gone. “Wait-“ he says again, helplessly. 

_Let’s just_ forget _about it?_

He leans numbly on the windowsill. There’s a cool breeze wandering in. The skin on his cheeks feels oddly tight as the breeze dries the wetness on his face. It smells like rain, but he can’t see any clouds, just the darkening sky, one or two stars showing through the light pollution. 

Newt would rather forget?

He turns away from the windowsill at last, limping back to the couch and sitting down again, forgetting to close the window. He wishes he could understand what the hell just happened. He cried. Newt was there. He kissed Newt - and why, why the fuck did he do that - and Newt said “ _This is a bad idea_ ” and “ _Let’s just forget about it_ ” and then he left. 

It’s like he has several puzzle pieces but can’t make them all fit together, so instead he’s left with gaps and questions and an empty apartment and a headache. Why did he kiss Newt? And why did Newt just leave? Why didn’t he kiss him back?

It’s not - it’s not like he thinks that Newt has sat around waiting for him for this past year. He has no idea what Newt’s emotions for him are beyond friendship - if there even is anything beyond friendship - and he’s sure that Newt is…seeing other people. But it’s not- Hermann doesn’t think he’s in a relationship with anyone else. He can’t be, because surely if he was that person would have an issue with Newt spending every night with someone else. Unless he lied about what he was doing - no, but even then, Newt would have to provide some excuse to not see that person at night. And he’d have to be lying to Hermann. He’s a terrible liar. It’s more reasonable to assume he’s still single. And single Newt is…well, he doesn’t seem to be the most discriminating about who he sleeps with. Anyone he finds attractive and is interested in him is fair game. So Hermann really can’t understand why Newt would react with such apparent disinterest and disapproval to Hermann. He would have expected Newt to at least kiss him back.

It shouldn’t matter this much. It shouldn’t matter at all. It was a stupid thing to have done, he should be glad that Newt would prefer to forget about it. It doesn’t matter why Hermann did it. It doesn’t matter why Newt didn’t want to kiss Hermann. 

Except it does matter, it matters a lot, and he understands why when he at last gets up to start preparing for bed. His apartment came with one of those closets where the door double as a mirror. He doesn’t normally pay much attention to it, but today his reflection catches his eyes when he’s taking off his shirt to put on sleep clothes. He pauses before the mirror, gaze fixed on the reflection of himself staring back, serious and drawn. 

He’s never been the sort of person to put much effort or thought into his appearance. He buys clothes based on what is cheap and warm and presentable, the only thing he does to his hair is brush it, and he hates exercise far too much to consider trying to ‘get into shape,’ even before his injury rendered that difficult. He was always perfectly aware that he was not what was considered conventionally good looking, and he’d never especially minded that. He wasn’t bad looking, either, and there had certainly been people that were interested in him. 

Newt cares about appearance; Hermann knows that, it’s perfectly evident purely from the amount of time he spends trying to make his hair look careless. He cares about clothes and he cares about his hair and his glasses and his tattoos and his shoes and his voice and his height and his weight. And, for some peculiar reason, Newt had seemed to find Hermann attractive- or, at least, he said he did, and he was rather convincing about it. Hermann had attributed this partially to Newt having weird tastes and partially due to people tending to find anyone they care for attractive. 

It was stupid, and Hermann _didn’t_ care how he looked, but he’d liked that Newt thought he was good looking. He’d liked when Newt had smirked at him possessively and said things like, “Fuck, you’re hot!” and when he’d kissed Hermann and ran his hands over him like he couldn’t possibly stop touching him, and sometimes he would just stop and _look_ at Hermann, as if he couldn’t believe that Hermann was his, as if Hermann was something rare and precious and beautiful; and it made him feel good when Newt looked at him like that, like a sun was filling up his chest and casting the world into technicolor. 

But Hermann doesn’t look like he used to look. 

He stares at himself in the mirror with his shirt off and finds himself mentally categorizing the differences. He’s definitely, noticeably, thinner than he used to be. The injury, the morphine, the stress…he’d dropped a somewhat unhealthy amount of weight. He’s finally, in the last few months started putting weight back on, but he’s still not where he should be. He used to be skinny, now he’s positively bony. His hair is shorter, too, and he’s too pale, and although he’s sleeping much better these days, a certain amount of the shadows under his eyes seems to have become permanent. His skin is blotchy from crying. He doesn’t smile anymore - well, he did today, but that didn’t go well at all - and he’s always thought he had an embarrassing smile, but Newt seemed to be very fond of his smile. These days, Hermann looks…grim. 

And of course there’s the fucking limp. And the fucking cane. And the fucking _scars_. He limps everywhere he goes, that can’t possibly be appealing. He’s better with his cane these days, he can get around much more easily, but he still needs it on a permanent basis. And although must of the cuts and scrapes from when he got hurt healed easily, a few left scars. He places one hand over the long jagged one on his hip. He can’t entirely cover it up, and it runs below the waistband of his pants. Not that Newt could know the scars are there - most are naturally covered by warm clothing - but they certainly aren’t attractive. 

He looks different these days, in a lot of not-good ways. Newt used to like how Hermann looked, but there’s no guarantee he still does. Maybe Hermann’s changed too much. That would explain it, why he didn’t want to kiss Hermann if…

Newt doesn’t want Hermann anymore.

He’s still staring at his reflection, but not really seeing it anymore. It hurts again, but not the sharp cresting pain he felt when he was crying, or the jagged terror of the panic attacks. He feels…empty. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Newt doesn’t want him anymore. Not like that. He’s not wanted.

He never even thought of this before. He’s considered the way Newt feels toward him, in terms of emotions, whether it was purely platonic or if he still felt any love for Hermann - and he still doesn’t know which is preferable, and which he thinks is true - but he never even questioned whether he might still be…desirable. Attractive. 

He notices, with a dull disappointment, that there’s another tear tracking down his face again. He tries to tell himself that it’s just that his earlier break-down has left him more vulnerable. And that’s another thing he’s shown Newt that’s really fucking unattractive, Newt has now seen almost all of his least attractive moments - crying, the panic attacks, the months where he couldn’t stop himself being furiously mean - he supposes he ought to be grateful that at least Newt didn’t see him when he was hospitalized. 

It feels so fucking awful to think that Newt might never look at him like that again, like he matters, like he’s wanted, like he’s…

Like he’s _loved_. 

He’s bending over slightly now from the hollow pain, arms wrapped tightly around himself, so that the second tear falls faster, slipping off his face before he can wipe it away. He closes his eyes tight before any more can escape, and takes deep breaths and tries to think of something else, anything else, counting heart beats and seconds and prime numbers, waiting for the empty ache in him to go away. 

Eventually he settles for it hurting less, and he quickly changes the rest of the way without looking at himself, without watching the awkward way he has to struggle into pajama pants, and then he curls up in the middle of his empty bed. His one comfort for the day is that crying has left him so fucking tired that he falls easily into a heavy, nightmare free sleep. 

 

The next day, perhaps fortunately, is Thursday, when his second therapy appointment is scheduled. He doesn’t even really consider skipping it this time, as he had last week. The debacle of yesterday makes him think that he really does need _therapy_. 

There are many odd things about his sessions and particularly his therapist. For one thing, Hermann has no idea what to call his therapist. Is it Mr. Kaidonovsky, or Dr. Kaidonovsky? He tries asking, and is informed with a genial grin to call him either Sasha or Aleksis. He does not find that at all helpful, especially considering that the man calls his wife Sasha. How can they both be Sasha? In the end he settles tentatively on Aleksis while wondering angrily why Americans have such a preoccupation with using first names- never mind that the man is clearly Russian in origin. 

Aleksis interrupts himself - quite literally in the middle of a sentence - to say, “You are upset. Why are you upset? You must tell me.”

He starts to instinctively respond, “I’m not upset,” and then remembers that he is in therapy and thus is supposed to talk about the things upsetting him, and not rampantly lie as he is used to doing in day to day life. He hesitates, glancing consideringly at the huge man sitting comfortably across from him in a too-small leather armchair. Hermann is sitting tensely in another armchair. Another of the things that he’d been a bit startled - but relieved - by was discovering that apparently the traditional image of a patient reclining on long couch and detailing their childhood and their dreams is a rather outdated idea. Instead he’s located in a chair and they - maybe discuss is the best word - a variety of things, but mostly, as Aleksis explained, focusing on ‘problematic thought patterns.’ 

Hermann suspects he has a lot of those. Like not wanting to talk about his ‘emotions’ or ‘personal problems,’ or feeling guilty about wanting to be helped. Or kissing his friend/ex-boyfriend/whatever the hell Newt is, and then panicking about it. 

Aleksis raises thick eyebrows that contrast in color with his blond hair - surely it’s unprofessional for a psychologist to bleach his hair! - and rumbles, “Well, I am waiting for you.” 

Hermann sighs and thinks about how best to go about explaining this. He’s still hardly even mentioned Newt, only saying once - when Aleksis pressed him about when he’d said last time that he’d had a rough year - that he’d had a semi-serious relationship last year that ended abruptly. He’ll probably have to go into more detail about Newt for this to make any sense.

He sighs again unhappily, and starts. “Well - I mentioned that last year I was, um, seeing a…guy.” He remembers abruptly that he has not related that particular detail, and watches Aleksis warily to see if his sexuality is any kind of issue. If the man starts trying to convert him - he’s heard of that happening - he will be out of here so fast. But Aleksis doesn’t even flinch, staring stolidly back at Hermann, so after a beat Hermann continues speaking. “It was…it ended badly, but we recently resumed our…friendship. Newt is - that’s his name, Newt - he’s a good friend of mine.” His best friend probably, no offense to Tendo. “Yesterday I was…upset over something and he…he was very good about it, he was…comforting. It…” Fuck, this is so fucking hard to say. “It was very helpful to have him there. And then I…” Hermann can feel himself beginning to blush. “I kissed him. And he was….clearly not interested in that, and walked out.” 

“Ah,” says Aleksis, when it’s clear that Hermann is done speaking. “Troubles of the heart. This, I know many things about.”

“It’s not- I mean, I’m not- I don’t mean to imply that I, I was trying to, initiate a, a romantic connection,” Hermann stammers. 

Aleksis again skeptically lifts his eyebrows. “Are you sure of this? Why are you upset that this boy did not respond to you then?”

“I - I’m not…entirely sure…” Hermann answers weakly. “That’s…part of the problem.”

The other man nods thoughtfully. “I see…Hm. Tell me more of this ‘Newt’ of yours, and your feelings toward him.”

“We’re - we’re friends-“

“Do you love him?”

Hermann flinches and looks down at his hands, feeling his face grow red. He mumbles quietly, “I’m…not sure…”

“You are not sure about love? You either love person or you do not. Consider this. Do you love him?”

He thinks about Newt. Newt smiling at him. Newt’s freckles. Newt doing ridiculous things like making cryptic book references and then buying him that book. Newt comforting him when he cried. The moment when he realized he loved Newt last year, and honestly all the things he loved back then are still there and he still-

He sighs, and admits, “Yes. I do.” 

“And does he love you? And do you want relationship?”

Hermann is silent at first, considering this. “I...really do not know. About either of those. He did love me. But then he left me, so that seems to indicate…and then it’s been so long since then, and I do think he’s been sl- been seeing other people...”

“But?” Aleksis prompts when Hermann trails off. 

“He’s also been very…very good, very kind to me, even though I’ve been…difficult. Kinder, perhaps, than a friend would be. But then…I kissed him and he left and I…” It feels like there’s physically a lump in his throat, making it harder to get the words out. But Aleksis is not saying anything now, perhaps suspecting now that there is more, that Hermann is getting to what really concerns him. “I wonder if the changes in my…appearance…have caused him to…lose interest, and that was why he said it was a bad idea when I tried to…kiss him.”

“Ah.” Hermann, still staring fixedly at the ground, can see in the corner of his eye Aleksis settle back in the chair. “I see. And this concerns you, it is clear.” 

“Well- Yes.”

Aleksis nods. “You are still fine looking young man,” he declares. “But it does not matter what I think. It is important that you learn to accept the changes that have occurred to your body. It is very important that you understand that you are not a lesser person for that.”

“I- I know that-“

“Yes, but _knowing_ something and _thinking_ something and _feeling_ something, these are not the same thing, yes?”

“…I suppose.”

“One thing, you must do, very important- The way person thinks, this influences the way they feel, the way they live, the way they know. You must learn, at moments when you begin to think that your disability makes you less, to stop yourself from thinking this, to consciously tell yourself that you are still _worthwhile_. Can you do this?”

“Um…yes?” Hermann says uncertainly, not entirely following the purpose of this.

“It seem silly, but is very important. Eventually, you will no longer have to consciously think it, you will simply _feel_ it.”

“O…kay…”

“Now, back to your ‘Newt’. It is true, it is possible that he no longer cares for you, perhaps even because of your disability. In which case, he is piece of shit. Not worthy of you. However…I think, there must also be other possibilities. Allow me to tell you a story of my own youth.”

“Wha-“

Aleksis fixes his gaze dreamily on a point above Hermann's head. “I was about your age, maybe little younger, when I first met my beautiful Sasha. She was most beautiful girl I had ever seen. From very first time, I was in love. The more I watched her, the more I love her. And when I see her beat polar bear at boxing, I knew, this was the girl I wanted to marry.”

“Excuse me, a _polar bear_?”

“But Sasha is so beautiful, all the other young men and women also want to marry. She receive marriage proposal every day of the week, twice on Friday. So she make rule, the only person she will marry is one who can defeat her in battle. And she is so strong and smart and deadly that no one can defeat her, so she marry no one.” He sighs, apparently with nostalgia, and Hermann mutters, “ _Battle?_ ”

“I knew it was impossible, that she is far too strong for me, but I love her so that I challenge her to a fight anyway, praying that my deep and true love will give me strength to win. But when I ask her, with great tenderness and passion, to fight me…she refuse! 

“My heart, it broke into tiny pieces. It was clear to me that she think so little of me, I am not even worth fighting! I have never felt such despair. I wander the countryside - it was July then, so only little snow, very nice - and joined with the sad howling of faraway wolves, so that my sadness ring to heavens. It was then that I meant the mother of my dear Alpha, after I save her from hunter’s trap. But this is different tale.

“I do not show my face to my darling Sasha for many days, feeling unworthy to even be in her divine presence. But then, after week of this, Sasha comes and finds me. ‘Aleksis!’ she says, and the sound of her beautiful voice, like angel, saying my name, nearly makes me cry. ‘You idiot! What the goddamn hell is wrong with you?’

"I explain to her that I realized that I am not worthy to be near her, let alone fight or marry her, and thus had been avoiding her. And she, with her lovely white hands, punch me in the face very hard, so that I see stars. ‘You stupid bastard!’ she shout. ‘I did not refuse to fight you because you are ‘unworthy’ or some dumb bullshit like that! I was afraid to hurt you, and I did not want to hurt you, you stupid fuck, because I love you!’ And then she kissed me, and I saw all the stars in heaven, and we have been together ever since, very happy.” 

“That can’t all be true,” is all Hermann can manage to say. 

Aleksis pretends to not hear this. “So of course the moral of this very moving and true story - and it must have moral or else would be stupid to tell you - is that sometime people in love do stupid things and misunderstand each other, and something that seem cruel may be done out of love, and the only way to know is to talk to each other. Maybe this small lizard of yours did not kiss you because he does not love you or want you - in which case I say again he is fool - or maybe it is because he have bad breath that day or think it is bad moment or think that you do not want him. Maybe he does not want to ruin your friendship. But you, you always assume bad, you expect worse so then even when good happens you cannot appreciate it. Pessimism is okay, but when it stop you from enjoying good things it is no good. Instead of expecting bad, you must find out how you feel, and then ask how your small lizard feels. And then, if he does reject you, you can kill him and I will testify that you are insane, make sure you end up in very nice hospital. So see, it will be good either way.” 

Hermann digests all this, then nods slowly. “Yes, I…I will talk to him…And he’s not a lizard.”

“Oh, that is a relief.”

“Newts are amphibians.”

“Ah. I see.”

 

Hermann spends most of Friday wishing Newt would call him and thinking about Aleksis’s advice. _Find out how you feel. Ask how Newt feels._ He supposes he had better do the first before doing the second. In the end, he calls Tendo.

“I need your help with something,” he tells him.

There’s a long pause, and then Tendo declares dramatically, “I have been waiting my whole life for this day. What is it?”

“…I need you to help me…um…’pick up’ a guy.”

The pause is even longer this time, so that Hermann nervously says his name into the silence. Tendo answers in a choked up voice, as if he’s about to cry. “I’m sorry, it’s just…You’ve just made me so very happy.” 

“You’re so annoy-“

“I’ll be there as soon as possible. Ooh, ooh, wear a bowtie!”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Okay. Worth a shot. See ya soon.”

The first place Tendo brings him, Hermann refuses to even get out of the car. He stares disbelievingly at the sparkling pink neon sign, reading ‘The Popsicle Stand’ and accompanied by a silhouette over the windows of what seems to be a man getting very intimate with what Hermann desperately hopes is a popsicle . The faint sound of thumping bass reaches his ears. He shakes his head in mute disbelief, not quite able to tear his eyes away. 

“What’s wrong, Hermann?” Tendo says innocently.

“There’s no way in hell,” he manages to say. “I’m not - I am not going in there.” 

“Really? Why ever not? It’s a perfectly nice bar-”

He shoots a scathing glare at Tendo, who cracks a shit-eating grin at last. “I couldn’t resist,” he confesses, giggling much the way Chuck does when he pulls a stupid prank. “Although, I have to say, this is definitely the best place around if you’re a dude that wants to hook up with another dude. At a regular bar or club, you’re way less likely to meet a gay dude.”

“I don’t care, I’m not stepping foot in that.” 

“You’re so repressed. It’s really sad.”

“There’s such a thing as being too - whatever the hell the opposite of repressed is!”

“Is there though?” Tendo asks seriously, wiggling his eyebrows.

“ _Yes_.” 

“Okay, okay, guess we’ll have to take our chances at a more…heterosexual place…”

Tendo stays quiet for exactly five minutes as they drive, and then, with ‘The Popsicle Stand’ still shining in his rearview mirror, asks, “Okay, are you sure you want a dude?”

Hermann considers grimly that he probably won’t like where this is going. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Because it’d probably be easier to pick up a girl at a regular bar.”

“I’m not really interested in girls.”

“…have you tried?”

“Oh my god.”

“I mean, how can you know if you haven’t tried, right? I thought I was straight, and then this guy started hitting on my freshman year of college and I thought, ‘eh, why not’ and it was totally awesome. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“I’m entirely certain I am not attracted to women.”

“So what, you’ve never seen a girl you would fuck?”

Hermann rolls his eyes even though Tendo is keeping his eyes fixed on the darkening road and can’t see him. “I suppose there have been one or two, but for the vast majority, although I can appreciate them from an aesthetic sense, I am not attracted to them.”

He can see Tendo smirk. “Who were the lucky one or two?”

“Will you shut up about it if I tell you?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I highly doubt you were ever a boy scout, but…the, er, actress, Summer Glau…”

Tendo nods appreciatively. “Firefly or The Terminator Chronicles?”

“…both.”

“Yeah, me too. Honestly, I don’t think you can be a nerdy guy unless you have a crush on her at some point.” Then he laughs suddenly.

“What now?” 

“Short, light brown hair, cute smile…you’ve got a type.” 

“Shut up,” Hermann growls, feeling his face grow hot. He’d never considered that, but…perhaps he does have a type. 

Tendo snickers again. “You’re adorable.” Before Hermann can furiously deny this, Tendo continues, “Anyway, this next bar we’re coming up to…it’s not all flashy and stuff, don’t worry, but it’s a bit of a gay hotspot.” He winks at Hermann after saying this, and Hermann rolls his eyes again. “Shouldn’t be too hard to pick up a guy here…so, you gonna tell me why you suddenly want to do that?”

“Um.” He knew Tendo would ask. He had, in fact, expected him to ask sooner. He debates how much of the truth he should tell him. “I’m, er, curious about something.”

“Everyone has gay feelings sometimes-“

“You are unbearable.”

“But, really, what are you ‘curious’ about?”

“…I…The thing is, that depending on what I figure out, I might really regret telling you. So I’d rather tell you afterward.”

Tendo is quiet as he parks the car in the parking lot of a bar with the name ‘Puzzles’ which, while odd, is a much more reasonable name. Then, when he finishes parking, he turns to Hermann and scowls. “That’s totally lame.” 

“Sorry.”

“That’s the most you’re gonna give me?”

“Yes.”

Tendo narrows his eyes and stares intently at Hermann for at least a solid minute. Hermann stares back, trying his best to convey how unimpressed he is at Tendo’s attempt to be intimidating. Tendo narrows his eyes a fraction more and reaches a hand out to Hermann’s head, fingers splayed. “Oh for god’s sake!” he snaps, batting the hand away. 

“I’m trying to mind meld with you, don’t move.”

“I’m going to get out of the car now.”

“I didn’t unlock the doors.”

“Then I’ll fucking unlock it manually!”

“No, wait, that’s bad for the lock!” 

“Then just let me out!” 

Tendo pouts, then reaches out and unlocks the doors. “I’m gonna be pissed if you don’t explain to me eventually.”

“That’s perfectly acceptable to me,” Hermann mutters, climbing gratefully out of Tendo’s cramped car. He doesn’t hate Tendo’s driving quite as much as he used to - he suspects that Tendo cuts down on recklessness when Hermann’s in the car, which he does appreciate - but he still hates his old, tiny car. There is no way to sit in it comfortably. 

He starts toward the bar without checking if Tendo is following, sure that he’ll come after. He’s been nagging Hermann for the chance to try and ‘get him laid,’ as he likes to say, for months now. No way he’ll let this chance pass him by. Sure enough, Tendo catches up to him in a matter of seconds, and in fact makes it into the bar first. 

Hermann pauses a moment in the doorway, scanning the room with a flicker of anxiety. He still hates crowded places. But this bar isn’t too full at all, despite it being a Friday night. There are people, but not enough to be too overwhelming. Tendo, halfway to the bar, stops and looks back at him quizzically. Hermann nods and catches up to him, and they both sit at empty seats at the bar. 

Tendo starts intently casing up every male in the room before they even get their drinks, muttering things like “Too old” and “Too straight” under his breath. Hermann catches himself thinking again that this was an atrocious idea. But he really has very little idea of how one ‘picks someone up,’ and that seems to be an area that Tendo is incredibly experienced in. 

“What about him?” Tendo asks, pointing to a short guy half way across the bar. 

The guy laughs loudly at something one of the other men he’s with says. The laugh has a uniquely screechy quality, and Hermann winces and says, “No, definitely not.”

Tendo “hmm”s rather disapprovingly and continues to look around. 

“Him?” Hermann asks, picking at random a moderately good looking guy.

“No way, that guy’s got ‘asshole’ written all over him, he’s clearly just cruising for a casual hook up.”

Hermann wonders how Tendo can tell. “Well, it’s not like I’m looking for a relationship, is that such an issue?”

Tendo stops his perusal of the room to focus his gaze on Hermann. “You’re not? I didn’t think you did casual.”

“Not normally, but tonight, I’m just…” He shrugs, not sure of what he means. ‘A casual hook up’ does sound a bit…unpleasant to him - how could you endure being touched that much by someone you don’t know? - but he also has zero interest in trying to start anything serious with anyone right now. Well. Maybe if it was…but that’s what he’s trying to figure out.

Anyway, he’s not sure he really wants to go as far as sex tonight, so it’s a moot point. 

Tendo clicks his tongue. “That would have been helpful information,” he says darkly. “I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

“You needn’t make such an effort…”

He scowls in a distinctly pouty way. “I’m going to go the bathroom,” he announces abruptly, standing up.

Hermann resists the urge to say something stupid like “Don’t get lost.” Newt’s been a bad influence on him. 

He glances around the bar again, wondering how the hell to go about this, but in the end, it becomes terribly easy. An average looking guy he hadn’t noticed approaches him shortly after Tendo leaves. It’s easy to tell he’s flirting when he asks if Tendo is Hermann’s boyfriend, and then smiles and says “good” when Hermann corrects him. 

His name is David. He works at a library. Hermann doesn’t feel anything when they kiss. He asks Hermann for his number, and Hermann says quietly, “I’m sorry, I’m not interested.” And then he leaves. 

He turns slightly, watching him walk away, and sees Tendo standing behind him, mouth open and arms held out in what is clearly a _what the fuck_ expression. “Oh. Did you see all that then?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, sitting down. “Damn. You’ve got mad game. Also, you are cold as ice. And also, how the hell did you just do that in five minutes and yet it took you four goddamn months to get an easy guy like Newt in bed?”

Hermann shrugs. “I suppose…since I didn’t really care about that guy. That made it easier. I wasn’t being careful or cautious or embarrassed like I was with Newt.”

“I repeat - cold as fucking ice. I hope that poor guy didn’t get frostbite.” 

Hermann doesn’t bother responding to this. He slumps forward in his chair, dropping his face into his hands with a sigh, thinking about that kiss. It didn’t feel like anything. It was just a kiss and it didn’t mean anything and the _whole_ time he-

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” Tendo says, putting a hand on his back, his voice taking on that anxious quality it gets whenever Hermann starts acting difficult. 

“Fine,” he mumbles into his hands. “I just…I did something stupid.”

“What, kissing that guy - or rejecting him - you could totally still get him, he’s staring at you sadly right now, it’s really pathetic-“

“No, no, not that.”

“…what did you do, then?”

Hermann lifts his head enough to glance at Tendo. He wonders if Tendo will be upset with him. If it falls out between him and Newt, who would Tendo side with? _Newt, most likely_ , he thinks, and it makes him surprisingly sad. But he should be truthful, after all Tendo has done for him. And perhaps his advice would be helpful. 

“…I kissed Newt.”

“Oh.” Tendo drops the hand still resting on Hermann’s back. “…When?”

“Wednesday.”

“So…” Tendo hesitates, and an angry expression shifts across his face. “So what the hell are you doing here, making out with random guys?”

Hermann sits up hastily. “It’s not like that. I mean - we’re not…together.”

“So what, you’re just leading Newt on-“

“No!” he interrupts forcefully, angry himself now. “He - _he_ rejected _me_.”

The furrow between Tendo’s brows eases as they instead lift up. “Wait- really? Newt did? Are you - are you sure? Tell me what happened. In detail, please.”

Hermann drums his fingers on his lap. “I was…upset. He was very good about it, and…comforted me. And then I…on impulse. I kissed him. And he pushed me away and said it wasn’t a good idea, and that we should…have some ‘space’ for a few days, and he left, and I haven’t seen him since and he hasn’t contacted me in any way.”

“Shit,” Tendo says distractedly. “That’s…weird all around…” He falls silent, eyes distant, clearly considering what Hermann just told him. Then he refocuses on Hermann’s face. “So…what’s this? Trying to make him jealous or something? Because if that’s the case - and I’ll be pissed if it is - you’re going about it all wrong.”

Hermann waves a hand dismissively. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not that juvenile.”

“Then what is this?” 

Hermann sighs and looks away. “I- When I kissed him, it was a reckless act. I wasn’t thinking. I was very upset. So I was thinking that perhaps I- Perhaps I was merely lonely. Maybe I would have kissed anyone, maybe it had nothing to do with Newt. And in that case, then I could tell him that and we could hopefully resume our friendship, as he would seem to prefer from his reaction. But I wasn’t sure if it was that, and I wasn’t sure how to determine for sure, so…”

Tendo shakes his head. “So you figured you would, what, test it in the field? Control subject and variables? You’re really fucking cold.”

“Well of course it sounds awful when you say it like that,” Hermann snaps, stung. 

“Your mind works in the weirdest way…So, what did you find out? What are the results of your study? Are you just horny?”

Hermann drops his head into his hands again. “No,” he mutters. “It’s just…it’s just Newt. All I could…that guy was perfectly nice, but all I could think about was that I’d rather it be Newt.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so _stupid_. I’ve ruined everything.”

“…you still have feelings for him.”

It’s clearly not a question, so Hermann doesn’t bother responding. 

“Do you…want to, you know, be with him? Like, start back up? Because, I mean, I’ll admit that I’m totally in favor of that. You guys being friends is just kinda stupid, it’s so clear that you’re…more than that.” 

“…I don’t know. Maybe- but it doesn’t matter, because he’s not interested in me like that, so instead I have stupid _feelings_ and I’ve _ruined_ this stupid fucking friendship.” 

“Oh, come on- Hermann- you know that he totally adores you, right? I’m sure it’s not ruined - I’m pretty fucking certain he’s still interested in you.” 

“He said we should just forget it ever happened! He hasn’t spoken to me since then! And I-“ But he stops here, unwilling to convey his worries about his appearance to Tendo. At least he knows that he’s not completely unattractive beyond all measure now, thanks to…whatever his name was. But it doesn’t matter if other people are attracted to him if Newt doesn’t want him anymore. 

That thought hurts properly now, no longer an empty ache. Now it’s kind of like a stab in the heart, as cliché as that statement is. He dully thinks, _but I’m still worthwhile_ , as he told Aleksis he would. It doesn’t make him feel any better, just kind of stupid.

“You really need to talk to him.”

“I know. I will.”

“Like, honestly, I mean. You need to tell him the truth, not just what you think he wants to hear, and you need to sincerely listen to what he tells you.”

“I _will_.” 

“Like tomorrow. Maybe even tonight. I c-“

“Tendo, I said I _will_.” 

Tendo tries to persuade him to go to Newt’s place that very night, but Hermann vetoes that idea. He doesn’t want to be stuck at Newt’s apartment if things go badly. He can probably handle walking the distance by now, but he thinks it’s more practical to not risk it. So instead, Tendo drives him home that evening, and Hermann spends the rest of the evening and three quarters of the next day procrastinating on calling Newt. He is, at least slightly, hoping that Newt will call first, but there is still absolutely no contact from him. This is less than encouraging. The longer he waits, the more he feels that he is bracing himself for rejection. 

Aleksis said he was too pessimistic, and he knows that he _is_ a pessimist. The world is huge and random and bad things happen. Maybe he is too pessimistic, but optimism seems foolish to him. Bad things _happen_. People get hit by cars and injuries don’t heal properly and people leave and people die. The world is not often kind. It feels safer, more practical, to prepare for the bad than to expect the good.

But he reminds himself that if one only looks for the bad, that is all one will find, and if chances aren’t taken, nothing can ever change. Yes, it is possible that Newt will reject him. At the very worst, it’s possible that this will permanently ruin everything he has with Newt, and he’ll never see him again. But all that could happen anyway. 

So around four in the afternoon, he forces himself to call Newt. He picks up almost immediately, and a part of Hermann that was subconsciously expecting Newt to ignore his calls relaxes. He is emboldened enough by this success to say steadily, “I need to talk to you. Could we perhaps meet?”

“Uh- Y-yeah. Sure. I’ll, um, come over to your place?” Newt says, his voice sounding a bit squeakier than normal, as it often does when he’s nervous.

“That would work.”

“Um. Okay. See you soon, then.” 

The distance between Newt’s apartment and his own is quite small, but the time it takes for Newt to reach Hermann’s apartment feels like years. It’s long enough that Hermann is suddenly, furiously certain that Newt is standing him up. Then he checks the time and realizes it’s only been five minutes. He wants to laugh at himself, but cannot find the situation funny in any way. 

His doorbell rings at last, and he buzzes the door open immediately. Then he worries he did it too quickly. He’s so nervous that he’s been waiting by his door where the buzzer is, but he doesn’t want that to be apparent. Then he tells himself to stop thinking about that because it’s too late by now anyway. He takes a deep breath and opens the door, just in time to see Newt coming up to the top of the staircase.

Their eyes meet, and both freeze for a moment. Hermann wonders for a terrified moment how he could have ever doubted if he still loved Newt, or how he could have thought he didn’t want him. God, he really doesn’t want to fuck this up. 

“Um - come in-“ he says, and Newt blinks and shakes himself and starts to walk again, slipping past Hermann into the apartment. He sits on the couch, arranging himself in a position that Hermann thinks is meant to look casual, but is far too stiff to actually seem relaxed.

“So, what’s up?” Newt says, too lightly. 

Hermann hesitates in the middle of the room, wondering if he should remain standing or sit next to Newt. He settles, in the end, on sitting awkwardly on the very edge of the cushion, half turned towards Newt, knees almost, but not quite, touching. “I…I want to talk about what happened the other day.”

“Yeah,” Newt says, his voice still terribly, forcedly, casual and upbeat. “Listen, really, we can just totally forget that, let’s pretend it never happened.” 

“O-oh.” He feels, again, like he felt that day, nearly a year ago, as if ice is spreading across his internal organs. “Is that-“ He clears his throat and starts again. “Is that what you want, Newt?”

“Well- I just- That’s probably for the best, right?”

Hermann puts a hand to his face, half hiding his eyes, and stares down. Maybe this is over before he even had the chance to begin, the chance to try. “If that’s what you want…then…we can do that…”

Newt tilts his head, presumably trying to look into Hermann’s face. “Hermann- Isn’t that what _you_ want?”

 _This is it_ , he thinks. _You have to say it now_. “Not- not exactly,” he murmurs. He forces himself to drop his hand and look at Newt, who is staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Newt- When I kissed you. I was acting impulsively. But it wasn’t- It wasn’t just because you were there, or anything like that. It was because it was you, and- If, if you’d rather stay friends, I understand that perfectly, and I truly don’t want to lose your friendship, because- because the past few months, this last month in particular, you’ve been very- and I, I treasure your company, but I have come to realize - and I feel that I should be honest - I still have feelings for you. Of a…non-platonic nature. And I would appreciate it if you would honestly tell me how you feel toward me.”

Newt’s eyes go wide, his mouth opening slightly, but other than that he does not move in anyway. He looks at Hermann with his wide eyes - blue today, matching his shirt - and he doesn’t say a word. Hermann supposes that’s good, if a bit alarming. He isn’t quite done yet. 

This part, he can’t bear to be looking at Newt as he speaks. “I will, of course, understand if you no longer have feelings for me. It’s been a long time now since we…ended. And I, I have changed a good deal, both in nature and…appearance…so it’s perfectly understandable if you…if you…no longer…w-want me…Please, um, please just tell me honestly. And I hope that this doesn’t ruin our friendship. If you prefer, we can indeed just forget about all of this.”

He stares down at his hands, blinking furiously, his eyes stinging again. This is ridiculous. He’s _not_ going to cry again. No matter what Newt says, even if he does reject Hermann, he won’t cry. 

“Hermann,” Newt says faintly, and then nothing more for a moment. Then he starts again. “You…you have…you’re still interested in me?”

“Yes,” he says, voice low, eyes still directed down. 

“And you’re asking if I’m still into you?”

“Yes.”

“If I want you?”

He bites the inside of his cheek hard and nods. 

“Hermann," Newt says passionately, and again, "Hermann, of course, of course I do! Of course I still- How- how could I not, it’s you, of course I still have feelings for you, of course I still want you, I-“

Hermann involuntarily raises his gaze to Newt, meeting his intent, distressed eyes. “But- you said it was a bad idea when I-“

“Oh- Oh god- No, that was, that was just, you were upset and I thought you were just- I figured that you were just upset, not that you were- and it felt like if I went along with that I would be taking advantage of you- and I thought for sure you would regret it and be upset with me when you were calmer- But I- I still- I should have explained that then- but I really wanted to kiss you then and it was confusing-“

He scans Newt’s face closely. “Really?” he says softly, still not entirely able to believe it. 

“ _Yes_ \- Oh!” His face lights up, and he says earnestly, fumbling at his left wrist, “Here, I’ll show you-“ and he pulls off the leather band that he’s been wearing this past month and holds his arm up so that the inside of his wrist is facing Hermann’s face. 

Patterned there in bright shades of pink and traced with thick black lines, in a cartoonish style, is a small and intimately familiar image, one that he hasn’t seen for a long time now. “The axolotl-“ he says blankly, peering at the tattoo. “Wha- why?”

“Uh- Right. You don’t remember-“ Newt says, blushing. Before Hermann can ask, _remember what?_ , Newt says, “Okay, it’s stupid, but- When I was in Germany, I, I realized that I wanted to, uh, win you back or something once I got home. So I- I got this tattoo, to um, I dunno, remind me, that I- That for me- It’s you. And it’s still you, even now, but I, all this time I figured you’d be pissed if you saw this, so I…kept it hidden. But my feelings haven’t changed, I, of course I still love you, Hermann. Of course I still want you.”

Somehow all he can say is again “R-really?” His vision is swimming a little, and he blinks hard, but all that does is dislodge a tear that goes rolling pathetically down his cheek. 

Newt leans forward, lifting the hand he is already holding up until it’s on Hermann’s cheek, gently brushing away the tear with his thumb. “Really,” he murmurs, and then he closes the small distance remaining between them, and kisses him with the utmost hesitation and gentleness and sweetness.


	14. All of the While, It Was You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important conversations and Recreational Physical Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Landon Pigg's Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop

April 5 - 6, 2014

The first time Newt kissed Hermann was a bit awkward, because honestly first kisses always are. Their teeth had clicked together, and the angle had been a little awkward, and Hermann had been so surprised at first that he had been stone still. But it had been a good kiss too, particularly once Hermann loosened up - and then had been rather skilled and even aggressive at kissing, which had been an extremely pleasant surprise - both of them passionate and eager, desperate to touch every bit of the other after months of restraining themselves from doing that very thing. 

This kiss is different. He knows Hermann this time, knows just how to lean in and tilt his head, so that they come together smoothly. And it is slower too, gentler, not a kiss of getting to know each other, but of reaffirming the things that are already known and promising to enjoy the things that have changed since then. 

Newt closes his eyes, properly devoting himself to the feeling of _this_. Kissing Hermann, he decides, is so much better than kissing anyone else he’s ever kissed- which is not an inconsiderable number of kisses. He’d kind of forgotten the cute little sound that Hermann makes in the back of his throat sometimes, and Hermann makes that sound now. God. He really likes that sound. He slides a little closer to Hermann on the couch, and Hermann leans in closer to him. Newt had kind of meant for this to just be an of-course-I-still-have-feelings-for-you-you-stupid-sexy-idiot-please-don’t-cry kiss, but then it’s been a really long time since they’ve properly kissed and he doesn’t want to stop. He suspects Hermann feels the same. He’s put one hand on Newt’s thigh, that’s just _unfair_ , even if he is only keeping it near Newt’s knee. 

But it does not seem to actually be possible to keep a kiss going indefinitely, and eventually they pull apart, both a bit flushed. Newt thinks he might be smiling idiotically. He can’t stop looking at Hermann, who is also now smiling faintly, his eyes still shining even though no more tears are pooling. 

He hopes he never has to see Hermann Gottlieb cry again ever in his life. But, if Hermann does ever cry again, he hopes that he is there, that he can maybe make it better in some way. 

“You definitely still have feelings for me?” Newt says hesitantly.

“Do you think I’d kiss you like that if I didn’t?” he answers, raising an eyebrow sarcastically, and Newt giggles even though it’s not that funny, suddenly giddy. 

“I think that was _me_ kissing _you_.” 

“Don’t get smart with me.”

Newt laughs again, then says, a little more soberly, but still shyly smiling, “So…where does this leave us? What…does this mean? For us?”

He’s still a little afraid that this is the moment where Hermann will shut down, withdraw, eyes going cold and distant, that he’ll slide away and remove the hand that is still resting on Newt’s knee, move away the legs brushing his. He does become more thoughtful, the smile fading, but he doesn’t move his hand. “Yes…” he murmurs. “That’s a good question.”

“I’m really good at asking questions,” Newt says solemnly, and the smile flickers again across Hermann’s face. 

“What do you want to do?” Hermann says, watching him intently. Newt wonders again if Hermann had really doubted that Newt was still _attracted_ to him. The mere concept that he would not be wildly into Hermann seems faintly ridiculous. Like, has Hermann _seen_ himself? But he had seemed to mean it when he asked…he had seemed to really mean it. His voice had cracked on ‘want’ when he had said, “It’s perfectly understandable if you no longer want me.” Newt decides that that is an issue he’ll need to think about. The ‘no longer’ is what in particular bugs him.

“Well…” he starts slowly. “For one thing…I, well, I’m really fond of being able to do that. The whole kissing thing, I mean. I pretty much missed that a lot.”

“I am also rather fond of that,” Hermann admits, and Newt grins. “And I suppose we weren’t really good at being friends…” he continues. 

Newt leans back a little, unexpectedly hurt. “I - was I not a good friend? I was trying my best-“

“Oh no, no, that’s not what I mean-“ Hermann hastily corrects. “You were very good - I mean…perhaps, too good. Some of that was…probably not stuff you would necessarily do for a friend. We were perhaps…closer might be the word? Than purely platonic relationships often are…not that those can’t be very close, but not usually close in…that way…” 

“Oh. You mean the, er, experiment.”

“Yes. I don’t think that sort of thing is common between friends. I mean, you wouldn’t do that with Tendo, would you?”

Newt considers this. He’s certainly not as close to Tendo as to Hermann, but he supposes if Tendo really asked and needed it…Then he catches Hermann looking at him with an incredulous expression and hastily realizes, “Oh, I’m supposed to say no to that. No. Nope, only you.”

Hermann rolls his eyes and mutters, “You are impossible.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” he says, with a smile that is aiming to be somewhere between mischievous and apologetic. He’s not entirely sure he achieves that affect, but he must achieve something because suddenly Hermann leans forward and kisses him again, the hand above Newt’s knee squeezing a bit this time. 

“I like impossible,” he says quietly when he pulls away, his eyes intent on Newt’s, a faint blush coloring his skin. That blush. Newt has missed that blush. He’s missed causing that blush. 

“I missed you,” he says simply, then after a beat and the realization that might sound bad, he hastily starts to explain, even though he’s not sure what his explanation will be.

But before he can even really begin, Hermann replies, “I’ve missed you too.” 

“Oh. Oh. That’s…cool.” He half tilts his head, looking at Hermann, and tentatively ventures, “So…?”

He’d kind of like for Hermann to just kiss him again. Maybe they could just spend the whole rest of always kissing. But instead, Hermann’s face grows serious again and he looks down. 

“I…I do want…but…” Newt’s heart twists in his chest at that ‘but,’ as if his heart was a damp washcloth being wrung out vigorously. He’s not sure he’s doing a good job of keeping his sudden alarm off his face, so maybe it’s good that Hermann isn’t looking at him. “But I think we need to talk about some things before we…decide on anything.”

“Oh. Um. Okay. Sure,” Newt agrees, trying to keep his tone light even as he suspects that he knows what is coming. 

Hermann lets out a deep breath and looks up at him again. “I need to understand why you left,” he says, and Newt’s heart is wrung again. He was right. “You just left before, and I need…I need to know why, and I need to know that you won’t do that again. If…if you could just leave me again, then I can’t do this.”

“Right, um, yeah, of course.” He rubs a hand across his face agitatedly. It’s stupid, he thinks, because he’s been wanting to explain this for ages, and Hermann had made it perfectly clear up until now that he didn’t want to hear it and it had been driving Newt crazy. But now that the time has come to actually explain, the words are sticking in his throat. 

Hermann always says that he’s the worst at saying his feelings, but Newt is certain that he’s wrong, because Newt is definitely far worse than him. He either blurts out his feelings at the worst possible moment, or he stammers and falls over the words and phrases things badly when the moment is right. 

He starts again. “Okay, so, um…you know the whole, uh, Germany situation.” Hermann nods, still with his clear eyes carefully watching Newt. “Well…the thing was…when Erik told me about that. One of my very first thoughts was about you…what to do about you, what you would think. And…I mean, I knew that we could try doing it long distance, but, um, it just…To be honest, it kinda freaked me out. That I was thinking about what you would think first off, that I was even considering a long distance relationship. And I just sorta…thought about how serious it was with us. That was pretty much the most serious of a relationship I’d ever had, and I kinda…panicked. It felt like we were, I dunno, settling down or something, and I wasn’t even sure that I…” 

Hermann, without moving a single muscle, in his face or anywhere else, has somehow become infinitely farther away from him in the course of this conversation, his eyes dimming out like when the lights in a long hallway flicker off one by one, until there is only one light on at the very far distant end of the hall. “That’s a problem,” he says quietly, pulling away the hand that all this time has been sitting on Newt’s leg.

Newt, panic fluttering under his collar bones, reaches out to him and then drops his hand. “No, but- I, I’m not done. I’m not done explaining. Please- Hermann, listen to me.” Hermann doesn’t say anything more, so Newt takes that as license to continue. “I was stupid, okay, really stupid. And, and wrong. Because, at, at that time, it felt like settling down. But then…after being in Germany a while, when I began to think about coming back…“ Occasionally, Newt realizes that he must have realized he wanted Hermann back right around the time Hermann was hurt, and feels sick. He tries to push past this feeling now. “I, um, it really sucked to realize that I would be coming home to…not to you. And I…I basically missed you so much the whole time I was gone and I was expecting that to stop but it didn’t really. And I thought about it and I just…I realized that…It wouldn’t be settling with you, that I always had fun and was…happy. With you. And I realized I still loved you and I still wanted to be with you and that it didn’t really scare me anymore to, uh, to commit. Actually, um, when I first came home I was kinda planning to do my best to try and win you back but then obviously that didn’t work out. For, um, totally valid reasons. And I was - I am - also okay with just being friends because I just, uh, this sounds so sappy but I just want to have you in my life. Because really I, I really love you and I…I was miserable not having you in my life, and I can’t imagine doing that again.”

When he stops talking, a resounding silence fills the small room. Newt realizes after a century that he isn’t breathing, and he drags in an anxious breath. Hermann is staring at him without a word, so still that Newt suspects he isn’t breathing either. “And now I’ve scared you away by being way too committed,” Newt jokes weakly, and immediately regrets saying it. He should not be allowed to talk. He always says stupid things. So much in his life would be easier if he could just shut up.

But Hermann abruptly comes back to life, shaking his head. “No, that’s not- I-I don’t know how to respond, but, um, I’m…That was…good.”

“Oh. Okay. Good is…good.”

Hermann doesn’t smile, exactly, but he lets out a little huff of breath that is almost a laugh and quirks the corner of his mouth and, more importantly, the lights come back on in his eyes. “I’m…glad that you feel that way.”

“I really, really do.” 

Hermann ducks his head again and mutters, very quietly, “As do I.” 

This beautiful sort of floating, warm feeling fills up Newt again, stronger this time without the previous filter of shock, like a balloon that is filled up with fireworks. He is aware this is a stupid image, but is nonetheless accurate. “Oh. Oh. That is…good.”

Hermann glances up at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Newt resists the urge to lean forward and kiss him again. He should probably refrain until they have reached their final decision. So instead he asks, “Um…what else? Did you want to talk about, I mean?”

“Ah. Um.” Hermann hesitates, looking serious again. He frowns, then asks unhappily, “I just…need to know. Um. Did you…sleep with anyone, this past year?”

The balloon inside Newt promptly pops, the fireworks burning the inside of his stomach. “Yeah,” he admits in a low voice, hating himself with a sudden vicious stab when Hermann flinches ever so slightly. 

“Okay. I…I assumed that was the case,” Hermann says, the calmness in his voice clearly forced. 

“Sorry,” Newt whispers. 

“No, we weren’t together. It’s perfectly acceptable. Of course. I don’t…hold it against you.”

“I…If it makes it any better, I stopped as soon as I realized that I wanted you back. I haven’t…been with anyone else since then.” 

Hermann properly looks at him again at last. “…Really? But…what about the other night, when you, um, went…’out’?”

“Oh. Oh yeah. Um…” Newt blushes a little at the memory, then admits, “I just went home. I…I kinda thought you would be pissed if you realized that I wasn’t seeing other people - I mean, you seemed pretty dead set against any, um, flirting or whatever, not that I blame you, so I thought it would be easier if I just, uh, let you think I was.” 

“Wha-“ He starts, then sighs, slumping his shoulders, and mutters, “Honestly. We’re both such idiots.”

“Sorry,” Newt says again, but with a little, rueful smile this time. Then, because he is an idiot and he really can’t stop himself sometimes, he hesitates and asks, “Um…how about you? Have you…?”

“No,” Hermann says, after a moment’s deliberation. “I…I was still rather…upset over you, over the summer, and then it was a bit difficult after…” He waves vaguely at his leg, and Newt nods in understanding. Then, with a defiant spark in his eyes that lets Newt know that he is perfectly aware what he is doing, Hermann adds, “Nothing other than kissing.”

Newt is provably an awful person, and feels a stab of jealousy at this. He manages to only say, “Oh,” in response, and tries to stop himself from wondering aggressively who he kissed. It’s none of his business. But it was probably Tendo. Dammit. 

After a beat Hermann says, “Okay, from now on I won’t hold it against you. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s totally fair,” Newt says, and is proud of himself for actually meaning it. Nonetheless, Hermann’s remark has made him think of something else that is definitely relevant to them possibly having a relationship of the romantic kind. On the other hand, he really doesn’t want to ask. He’s slightly terrified of the answer. “Um. On the note of…holding stuff against me…um. How…angry are you at me, at this point? Over the whole…me being awful and leaving you. Because….I, uh, I hate to say this, but…it’s probably a really terrible idea to be together if you can’t forgive me for that. Not that I would blame you-“

Hermann interrupts him, frowning guiltily. “Oh. I meant to tell you this sooner. I, ah, yes. I’ve forgiven you.”

“What?” Newt says blankly.

Hermann grimaces and repeats, a little uncertainly - not as if he doesn’t mean it, but as if he’s uncomfortable with the phrasing - “I forgave you.”

“You- Really? What? When? How- Wait, _really_? _Why_?”

“Aren’t you going to ask ‘where,’ as well?” Hermann mutters crossly, and Newt scowls at him. Hermann sighs. “Yes, really. It was…almost two weeks ago now, I suppose. I, er, I woke up from a rather bad dream and you were…there. And it was very comforting, to have you there, at that particular moment, and I just…wasn’t angry anymore. It was a relief, to be honest. I guess…maybe that was why I began to, um, think of you in a romantic light again.”

Part of Newt is thinking that only Hermann Gottlieb could sincerely say something like ‘a romantic light’ instead of simply saying ‘like’ or ‘love.’ The rest of him is incredulously happy. The fireworks balloon has returned. “Wow,” he breathes. “I totally would have settled for you forgiving me eventually. I feel like I should, um, say thank you or something.”

Hermann shakes his head. “Honestly, I think I ought to have done it sooner…I was probably angry for longer than was fair to you.”

Newt shrugs. “I didn’t think it was unfair, and I was the person you were being angry at.” 

“You’re far too nice to me,” Hermann sighs, and before Newt can protest how vastly untrue this is - both because he knows that he’s a jerk and because he’s of the opinion that there is not ‘too’ nice when it comes to Hermann - Hermann says, “I…that’s most of what I wanted to know of you, honestly. Um…do you have…more? I’ll try to honestly answer whatever you need to know.”

Newt pauses to consider this, thinking of what things he has been wanting to ask Hermann. There is one particular thing that comes to mind soon, something he’s asked before. “Um…so…I don’t know if this is relevant, exactly, but, um, I’ve been wondering why…why you didn’t call me when you were hospitalized.” 

“Ah,” Hermann sighs. “That. Um. Okay. There were…I think I’ve said, that it was…complicated. I had…several reasons. I…originally I told you, I think, that I didn’t want to have dealing with you on top of everything else and that’s…somewhat true.” Newt nods and tries to not look hurt at this, but he must not succeed, because Hermann looks at him and says in a gentler voice, “I did want you there. It’s just…It was very complicated at that time, you understand. I was physically in a lot of pain, for one thing.” Newt always feels a painful stab in his stomach when he thinks of Hermann in the hospital, Hermann in that much pain. It kind of makes him want to cry. “And I was still rather, um, upset over how you ended things. I was starting to get over it, I think, but then I got hurt, and…I wanted you there. I think that’s part of why I didn’t call you. Because I really wanted you there, but not as a friend, as my…uh, boyfriend. And of course you had broken up with me so you wouldn’t be like that, and it almost seemed like that would be worse, to have you there and not be mine. That was sort of what I meant…that I didn’t want to have to deal with that pain when I was already in pain. Um…and then, also, I…well. You…broke up with me, and it seemed rather final at the time, like we were completely over in all ways, and I…I was worried that…you wouldn’t come. There didn’t seem to be any guarantee that you would, and I…didn’t want to…It would have been very painful to me if you didn’t come, and I honestly didn’t think I could have handled that. And I certainly…would have come to hate you, and I didn’t want that either. So at the time, it simply seemed easier to not call you, or even think about you.” 

Newt clenches his lips and nods. “I…I understand. But…um…I know it doesn’t matter now, but…I would have come. I definitely would have come.” He tries to fake a smile.  
“Honestly, we weren’t doing that great in Germany, so I definitely wouldn’t have put my band in front of you or whatever. But, um, even if we were, I would have come.” 

Hermann’s smile, though smaller and sadder, is far realer than Newt’s. “Thank you, Newton.” 

It keeps hitting him all over again today, how much he loves Hermann. Perhaps because now he feels free to think it. He no longer has to scold himself for still being in love with him. It hits him again now. Today has been kind of a roller coaster, he thinks. “That’s it for me,” he manages to say. “Can I kiss you now?”

Hermann is really unfair and instead of answering, he leans forward and crushes his mouth against Newt’s, one hand at last returning to where it belongs on Newt’s leg, the other tangling in his hair. He always makes fun of Newt for how much effort he puts into his hair, but he certainly seems to appreciate it, judging from how much he touches it when they kiss. Newt, on the other hand, likes to wrap his arms around Hermann and pull him close as possible and feel the edges of his bones under the smooth skin. He doesn’t quite dare, today, to put his hands up Hermann’s shirt, so he settles for running his hands over his back above his shirt. 

When they pull apart, Newt says, a little breathlessly, “That was good and all, but I asked if _I_ could kiss you.” Hermann laughs, and Newt grins at him, his heart singing at the sound of Hermann's laugh. “You’re gorgeous and super cute and I really missed being able to say that to you.”

Hermann is as bad at taking compliments as ever and blushes and mutters, “Shut up.” 

Newt used to laugh at him when he did this, but it feels different this time, and he frowns. “No, really,” he says firmly. “I was wrong when I said before that was all I wanted to say. This is important too. Did you really think it was possible that I wasn’t attracted to you anymore?”

Hermann looks alarmed by this sudden turn. “Well, I did consider it as a, um, possibility-“ he hedges. “I…have certainly changed in the way I look, with, um…” he once again waves vaguely in the direction of his leg. 

“That definitely couldn’t change the way I feel about you,” Newt says. “I- That’s- Don’t even _think_ that, Hermann, okay?” Hermann scowls and Newt says again, “Okay?”

“Yes, yes, okay,” he agrees impatiently. 

“Cool,” Newt says, smiling again. “Because you’re super attractive and I’m gonna tell you that a lot. Partially because I like it when you blush.”

Hermann hmphs, then pauses and says, “So we are…doing this. Back together?”

“If you’re okay with it?” Newt says, suddenly hesitant.

“No fucking off to Germany this time,” Hermann says sternly.

“Not unless you’re with me,” Newt promises, and for some reason this makes Hermann blush. 

“Then…I guess…we’re, um…”

“C’mon, Hermann, you can say it," Newt says teasingly when Hermann hesitates too long. He always was weird about saying words for relationships.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Newt says with a lascivious wink, and Hermann snorts.

“You’re terrible, but okay, yes, fine, we’re a couple, or whatever.”

“You’re such a romantic. ‘A couple or whatever.’ Be still my beating heart.”

“Better than being so romantic as to get an axolotl tattooed on me,” Hermann snaps. 

“I think it’s cute,” Newt mutters sadly, holding his hand out in front of him so he can look at the small tattoo. 

“It’s ridiculous,” Hermann says firmly, then grabs Newt’s arm below the tattoo, brings Newt’s wrist up to his face, and lightly brushes his lips across it. “I do prefer it to your other tattoos, though,” he murmurs.

“Oh my god,” is all Newt can manage to say at first, feeling his face go entirely scarlet. “Whoa. That’s- Oh my god. That’s like the cutest thing you’ve ever done. And you do a lot of cute stuff.”

“I’m not-“ Hermann starts to protest, releasing Newt’s wrist, and then he pauses, as if struck by a sudden thought, and says, looking at Newt with a small frown, “Tendo is going to be unbearable.”

“Oh, fuck,” Newt says, and sighs. “Yeah. He’s gonna be awful.” 

“Should we tell him now or-“ Hermann’s words are cut off by Newt kissing him firmly. 

“Definitely not now, because that would involve him being here and right now I really just want to do this a lot,” Newt says. “I mean, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, I can’t waste time on that guy.”

“I think that’s an excellent plan.” 

They don’t, by some unspoken agreement, go any farther than kissing that night. Newt is reminded again of the first time they got together. He’d actually wanted to go slow that time, knowing even then that Hermann was different, not just a one night stand, but going slow is not really a possibility when Hermann Gottlieb is very determinedly trying to take your pants off. Not that he had minded at all then. But neither of them makes any sudden movements on this particular day, and Newt thinks that’s for the best. They _should_ go slow this time. And it’s not that he doesn’t trust Hermann - or himself - but if tomorrow one of them wakes up and thinks that this whole thing was a terrible idea, it’ll definitely make it less complicated if they haven’t slept together. So they don’t have sex that night.

But they _do_ sleep together, and Newt thinks that it’s maybe just as satisfying as sex, in a different way, when they get in bed and he automatically goes to lie on the far side, and Hermann reaches over to him and tugs him close, into the middle of the bed. He presses his face up against Newt’s neck and lets out a contented sigh, and Newt feels as if his heart is going to burst. There's too many fireworks now. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do this,” Newt mumbles into his hair. “I…the other day, actually, I woke up before you with us like this, and it actually kinda killed me to let go, but I thought you’d be pissed.”

Hermann pulls away enough to be able to look at him. “Oh. Do you mean…about two weeks ago? I…did that. On purpose, I mean.”

“What?”

Hermann shrugs. “I…woke up from a bad dream, and you - in your sleep - did that thing where you sprawl across me, and it was actually very comforting, after my dream, so I, uh, moved…closer…That, um, that was when I forgave you actually.” 

“Oh my god,” Newt mutters, processing this. “I guess…it’s just…that you like cuddling is so weird, you know.” 

“Shut _up_.” 

“Should I use a more dignified term? Recreational contact? Relaxing kinesis? Sleep-related embraces?”

“You’re completely ridiculous.” 

Newt giggles. Then, in a more serious voice, he asks, “Um, were you okay alone these past few nights? I know that I kinda bailed on you, I just figured at the time that space would be better…but I felt bad about leaving you alone at night…”

Hermann looks blank, then begins to smile in a pleased way. “I was fine, actually, no nightmares at all! I didn’t even notice it, which I suppose is a good sign actually.”

Newt grins too. “That’s great!” 

“But,” Hermann says solemnly, in his professional voice, “I think that we ought to continue our experiment anyway. To make absolutely sure, you know, gather as much data as possible.” 

“Oh, of course,” Newt agrees. “We can’t stop now; we must carry on the experiment. For science.” 

“I’m glad you agree,” Hermann murmurs, pressing his face into Newt again. 

“We should probably graph our results and stuff. I know how much you like graphs.”

“Mm.”

“...Are you asleep?”

“…Yes.”

“Then how come you’re answering me?”

Hermann doesn’t answer this time, so Newt takes that to mean that he is indeed asleep. He waits a little longer, then, smiling up at the ceiling, says, “Love you. Good night.”

And then freezes when Hermann mumbles, clearly half asleep, “Same t’you.” 

“Hermann, same to what? Which part? Hermann?”

Hermann makes an indistinct mumbling sound that does not seem to actually involve words, curls a little closer to Newt, and then subsides into silence. “Oh, c’mon Hermann, why do you always have to be like that,” Newt complains. “That’s so unfair.” 

The thing is that Hermann never actually explicitly said what his feelings were today. That he had feelings, that they were romantic, that he wanted to be with Newt, that was all perfectly clear, but as to how deep they went…That was far less certain. And on the one hand it could be the same old issue, that Hermann seems to be categorically incapable of saying the words “I love you” - unless high on cold medicine - and Newt is okay with that. Even without the cold medicine incident, Hermann had managed to make his feelings about Newt clear enough. Newt had known that Hermann loved him.

But then on the other hand he doesn’t know that now, and it’s okay if Hermann isn’t at a level of loving him right now, if he just has _feelings_ , but damn if he _does_ love Newt and that was what ‘same to you’ meant, then Newt would really, really like to know that. 

He’d like to know that enough that it takes him far longer than usual to fall asleep, even with the comforting presence of Hermann - he’s not sure how bony and angular is comforting, but it is - pressed against him. He thinks again, idly, how thin Hermann is. Maybe it’ll be easier to feed him up now. He’ll still have to be subtle about it - Hermann is proud, and he’s had his pride damaged in enough ways recently that Newt doesn’t want to add onto it - but he’ll have more chances to do it.

Goddammit, did he mean ‘same’ to love? 

He falls asleep eventually, and it feels as if he’s only been asleep a few seconds before Hermann is shaking him awake, saying “Newton, wake up,” in an urgent voice. 

“Whasit,” Newt mumbles, opening his eyes and then promptly closing them again. Hermann says his name again and Newt mutters something that, in his not yet awake state, seems to him to be the proper response and doesn’t move. He is satisfied that he did whatever Hermann wanted when he stops talking to Newt. Then, nearly long enough later that he is almost properly asleep again - although, really, he’s so close to sleep now that it was probably only a few seconds - there is a clicking sound and light floods the room, turning the inside of his eyelids red. “Hermmmm,” he complains, and reluctantly opens his eyes, blinking repeatedly at the room, fuzzy without his glasses.

A tall blurry outline that is most likely Hermann is standing near where the light switch must be, and as he watches it wobbles toward the bed, becoming more distinct until it’s no longer a blob and is instead the blurry image of Hermann’s face, sitting a short way away from him and staring seriously at him. “I shook you and said your name loudly and you said what I believe to have been ‘whasit’. I could have been dying and your response would be ‘whasit’. That’s very comforting to know, Newton.”

“Are you dying?” Newt, slightly more awake, asks.

“Well, no-“

He frowns. “Did you have a nightmare?” he says, now concerned.

“…No.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “Okay, then, whasit?”

Hermann scowls at him. Newt is unrepentant, and Hermann reluctantly continues. “I think I remembered something. About your tattoo, the axolotl one.”

Newt sits up properly. “Oh, yeah?” he says in what he hopes is an innocent voice. He wonders if he’s about to be in serious trouble. Depends, really, on what Hermann has remembered. And then, Newt’s not entirely sure how Hermann will feel about that information - but outrage is a fair guess, when it comes to Hermann. 

Hermann, up to this point, was still glaring at him for his ‘whasit’-ing, but now he looks rather embarrassed and glances away from Newt’s face. “Um…I suddenly remembered this peculiar memory of me telling you to, er, get that tattoo, because…um. Did that actually happen?”

“Uh. Yeah. You…it was that time last year when you had a cold. And you were pretty feverish and so on….you kept ranting at me in German and then you told me to get an axolotl tattoo…” 

“Oh.” Hermann swallows and looks back at him. The blush on his cheeks is making Newt suspect that he remembers more than just telling Newt to get the tattoo. “So that’s why you got it?”

“Well…yeah, you know me, I like crazy ideas…and it seemed like a good way to, uh, show my feelings…”

Hermann turns redder. “I recall…telling you that that would mean you were…mine…and...something else too...”

Newt nods, “Y-yeah, I believe that was said.” 

Hermann stares at him silently, then abruptly says, face hard, “One of the things that occurred to me after you left was that perhaps you did so because I had never made my feelings clear and you perhaps were worried that yours were unreciprocated…but that’s not true, is it?”

“Oh. Oh, Hermann…I…Um. No. I, I knew how you felt about me.” Hermann doesn’t say anything more, just continues looking at Newt, expression unreadable under the harsh yellow electric light. “…Are you mad?” Newt says softly. 

Hermann seems to consider this question seriously, eyes growing abstract as he thinks. Then he sighs and shakes his head. “No, I’m not angry. It’s just…I do wish you had told me, back then, I did keep worrying about…not having said it.”

“Yeah, I…I’m sorry, that was kind of right when I first started to get all…commitment-phobic, so I…but I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“This is probably going to keep happening, you know,” Hermann murmurs.

“W-what?”

“Well…we’re probably going to keep running into little issues we hadn’t thought of, memories of upsetting things…it’ll probably be a while before it’s just…easy.” Newt’s breath hitches in his lungs, and Hermann focuses on his face. There must be something of the alarm he’s suddenly feeling there, because Hermann hastily says, “I’m not saying that we should give up or anything like that! I’m sure we can…make it through whatever happens, I’m just saying that- that I’m probably still going to occasionally be angry with you. But I’m okay with that, if, um, if you are.” 

“Oh! Yeah. Course,” Newt says, smiling with relief. “Wow,” he adds, “We’re getting so good at this talking-stuff-out thing.” 

“Yes, so no more hiding it if you start getting panicky over commitment,” Hermann says sternly.

“Hey, dude, I get an axolotl symbolizing all your gooey feelings for me tattooed on my fucking body, I don’t think that’s an issue. But I'll share if it is...And you, no more hiding it when you’re upset about stuff or anxious or…actually just the whole hiding your feelings thing, don’t do that.” This small speech, which started out teasing, somehow ends up being rather serious, and Newt grimaces, wondering if he’s about to be shouted at or possibly shut out. 

Hermann does scowl, but he says, “I’ll do my best.” 

“That’s all I can ask of you,” Newt says with a smile. 

Hermann rolls his eyes. “Go turn the lights off,” he says commandingly.

“Wha- Why do I have to do it?”

“I turned them on.”

“Yeah, and woke me up!” 

“Because you concealed something from me!”

“Like a year ago, dude!” 

“I don’t see how the time is relevant-“

“Oh my god, who actually uses words like ‘relevant’ in daily conversation-“

“It’s night, actually-“

At this point Newt can longer stop himself from laughing. Hermann looks prim and disapproving, but the skin around his eyes is crinkling, so Newt knows he finds it funny too. “Okay, fine, I’ll turn off the light, but not because you win, just because I missed having dumb arguments like this.” 

As he stands up and walks across the room, he’s pretty sure he hears Hermann mutter, “I think I won.” He shoots him a glare in the last moment before flicking off the light switch, and Hermann does his Unimpressed With You Newton Look. It’s very similar to his Unimpressed Look, but aimed more specifically at Newt. 

When he climbs under the covers this time, he doesn’t give Hermann the chance to pull him nearer, instead immediately wrapping his arms around him. “Yeah, I’m the one that likes ‘cuddling,’” Hermann mutters sarcastically. 

“Excuse you, don’t you mean sleep-related physical contact?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Words can hurt, you know.” 

Hermann hmphs and Newt giggles, and they both subside into sleepy silence until, about five minutes later, Hermann whispers his name softly.

“Hmm, whasit?”

“I know that I’m bad at saying my feelings, and I will say it properly one day, but, um, I…I still feel about you the way that I did that night. When I told you to get the tattoo.”

Newt is not usually a person left speechless, but Hermann is good at doing that to him. He’s wordless long enough that he can feel Hermann start to go stiff in his arms, and then he manages to say, “That’s good.” 

“Is that all y-“

“I love you too, Hermann.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

Newt feels around cautiously in the dark until he can find Hermann’s face - his cheeks are hot to the touch - and kisses him carefully, and is grateful for all of this, for being able to kiss him and say _I love you_ and hear Hermann say the same in his own way. 

The next morning, when Hermann wakes up, he blinks sleepily at Newt and then smiles and says, “Oh. It’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like angst but gosh darn I sure missed writing fluff


	15. Please Let's Just Make It This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am _shamelessly_ amused by the image of Stacker Pentecost with a squeaky shopping cart. I keep giggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Tegan and Sara's I Bet It Stung
> 
> shout out to my copilot for talking with me that one time about Kaiju Park <3

April 6 - 17, 2014

It would be nice if they just easily settled into this rhythm of being a couple again. If Hermann could wake up every day and be content and comfortable to find Newt sprawled over him. If Newt didn’t sometimes forget that it was okay now to touch Hermann, and if Hermann didn’t sometimes also forget this and go stiff with surprise - or worse, jerk away, and Newt’s hurt expression always makes him ashamed - when Newt casually touches him. If Hermann didn’t occasionally panic over the fact that he has restarted a relationship with a person that spontaneously abandoned him only a year ago. If Newt would stop warily watching Hermann like he expects him to bolt. If Hermann wasn’t vaguely anxious about having sex again. 

(He’s really not entirely sure how that’s going to work. His flexibility is seriously reduced. And Newt still hasn’t seen his scars and part of him would like to keep it that way. But what if he delays too long and Newt decides he isn’t interested anymore, and okay he knows, rationally, that Newt will not up and leave him over sex - over delaying sex or not having sex or not being good at it anymore or not being able to have it anymore - but, as Aleksis likes to say, knowing a thing and believing a thing are not the same. And Hermann is good at worrying. He knows he should just talk to Newt about this, that he oh so recently promised he would stop hiding his anxieties, but on the other hand he’s utterly embarrassed about this whole thing.)

It would be nice if it was instantly like that, but it isn’t. The day after they actually at last Talk, things are pretty easy. Hermann wakes up and immediately knows where he is and is content to be in Newt’s arms. Recreational sleep-associated contact or whatever the hell Newt said. He smiles and says, “Oh, it’s you.” For some reason that makes Newt get that tender, so-happy-he-almost-looks-as-if-he-might-cry look that he gets when Hermann does something that Newt finds particularly endearing, and kiss him gently until Hermann lightly shoves him off and informs him he has morning breath. Newt laughs. They eat breakfast together. Newt drinks tea prepared by Hermann with a rapturous expression and declares it to be especially fucking good today. He bemoans the state of Hermann’s fridge and Hermann refrains from asking why he’s so preoccupied lately with Hermann’s eating habits. Then they sit around and watch movies and do all the stupid couple-y things that Hermann would passionately deny enjoying if asked, but secretly actually likes, such as holding hands and leaning up against Newt and laughing at him when he does bad imitations of people in the movies. That’s Sunday. Sunday is nice, and good, and Hermann does not permit himself to think outside of this day. 

The next day is, of course, Monday, and it’s not a _completely_ terrible day, but it’s also nowhere near as easy as the previous one. For one thing, when Hermann wakes up - before Newt - with Newt sprawled all over him, he forgets that they are back together, and panics. In his mind, they are still occupying the same bed solely for the reason of Hermann’s nightmares, touching is not permitted, and so he shoves at Newt with all his strength. 

He’s still half asleep, so this is not so much strength, but unfortunately Newt wakes up with a jolt, and they are closer to the edge of the bed than Hermann realized, and Newt falls out. Hermann all at once recollects the events of the weekend and sucks in a horrified breath, clapping a hand to his mouth.

“What the hell?” Newt groans, sitting up cautiously on the floor, looking around with a profoundly confused expression.

“Oh god, I’m sorry-“ Hermann says at nearly the same instant. “I forgot- Are you okay?”

“Uh- I’m fine, but…what just happened?”

Hermann, face turning red, awkwardly explains, and apologizes again. 

“No, it’s fine, it was just a bit…startling. Should I expect this again?”

“I don’t think so…Really, I’m really sorry, Newt.”

Newt stands up cautiously. “I think I bruised my tailbone,” he murmurs sadly, and Hermann apologizes again, feeling like he’s a wife-beater - a boyfriend-beater - or something awful like that. Newt glances at him and says with a sly smile, “You’d better kiss it better.”

Hermann is quiet for a startled beat - that would literally be kissing his ass - then nods and says, “Okay,” stoutly.

“Oh my god, Hermann!” Newt squeaks, and flings himself on the bed, wrapping his arms around Hermann’s neck. “I’m kidding, idiot! Jesus, you just startled me into falling out of bed, it’s fine, really, stop apologizing.”

“Sorry,” Hermann mutters again. 

“It’s like you said, there’ll still be some bumps to iron out, but…really, dude, it’s fine.” 

This all occurs near enough to the time they would have to wake up for school anyway that they decide to just stay up, splitting into separate tasks of preparing for the day. After Newt brushes his teeth, he comes out and slips up behind Hermann, leaning up against him and starting to say something, and Hermann starts and jerks away. Then immediately winces, and says “ _Sorry_ ” again emphatically. He catches the tail end of a hurt expression before Newt replaces it with a smile. 

“S’fine.”

“I’m terrible at this,” Hermann mutters. 

“You’re not,” Newt says forcefully. “It’ll just take a bit of getting used to again - for both of us.”

Hermann carefully leans into him. He smells minty like his toothpaste. “Okay.”

The rest of the morning goes relatively smoothly - although Newt does not attempt to be physically affectionate with Hermann again, and Hermann has to try to not to worry about that - until they get to school, where they somehow manage to almost immediately run into Tendo.

His eyes widen when he sees at them, and he looks meaningfully at Hermann and says, “Oh! It’s _both_ of you.”

Hermann remembers guiltily that he promised on Friday to tell Tendo the results of the Talk as promptly as possible, and absolutely did not do that. Newt looks vaguely confused and says, “Why do you say it like that?”

Tendo hesitates, glancing between the two of them. “Um- Well-“

Hermann spares him by announcing simply, “We got back together.”

Tendo actually squeals. Hermann was not aware that people who are not twelve year olds actually did that. “Aww, you guys finally stopped being idiots, aw, I’m so proud!” He lunges forward and hugs Hermann.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Hermann mutters uncomfortably. 

Tendo releases him cheerfully after only an instant, squeezes Newt too, and steps back, grinning. “So you actually like, sat down and _talked_ , right? Like adults? With explanations of your feelings?”

“Yes, yes, I _am_ capable of it.”

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Newt says uncertainly. 

“Oh, um, I…I asked Tendo for some advice on what to do about…the whole, er, awkward kiss thing-“ Hermann abruptly remembers what else he asked for help with on that particular day and realizes that was a terrible idea. He throws a desperate glance at Tendo that he prays will convey please-don’t-tell-Newt-about-that. Sharing his feelings with Newt is one thing, mentioning ill-advised kisses with strangers is entirely another. Or, fuck, that other ill-advised kiss with Tendo.

Fuck, Hermann has not been making the most solid of choices in the past few months. 

Fortunately, becoming friends with Tendo was a good choice, and he doesn’t say a word about it. “Yeah, and gave some good fucking advice, and you promised you would tell me what happened and you didn’t. What a disappointment.” He is digging urgently in his pocket as he says this, and pulls out his iPhone.

“You asked _Tendo_ for advice?” Newt says disbelievingly. 

“I’m good at advice,” Tendo says without really paying attention, his fingers flying over the screen of his phone.

“What are you doing?” Hermann demands suspiciously.

Tendo looks up from his phone long enough to smirk at Hermann. “Oh, you know, just telling Karla the news.”

“ _What_ \- Tendo- Don’t do that!”

“Who’s Karla?” Newt says with a slight whine in his voice, like a puppy left out in the yard.

“Hermann’s sister-“

“God, I wish you two never met-“

“Wait, what, your _sister_?”

“We’re facebook friends,” Tendo says proudly. 

“How do _you_ know Hermann’s sister?”

“Why are you telling her, don’t do that-“ Hermann’s own phone suddenly lets out the moaning sound that it makes now for a ring. “Oh goddamn you, Tendo Choi,” he groans, pulling the phone out of his pocket, the caller ID informing him that it is indeed his sister. He considers ignoring the call, but decides against it - that will only make it worse when she finally manages to get a hold of him - and reluctantly answers. 

Karla doesn’t even give him time to say hello before she’s saying - loudly enough that Hermann has to hold the phone slightly away from his ear - “Isn’t this the guy that _broke your heart_ last summer?”

It’s obvious that he’s not the only one that can hear her. Newt looks wounded and Hermann glares daggers at Tendo. “He didn’t-“

“So it is him!”

“I never said that-“

“You’re going out with that guy again, Hermann, really?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business-“

“Oh yeah, course you don’t, I probably wouldn’t even know about this if it wasn’t for Tendo-“

“Why the hell are you friends with him on facebook, honestly-“

“How else am I supposed to know anything about your life-“

“Maybe I don’t want you knowing about my life!”

“Oh, ashamed of your bad romantic choices?”

“No-“ He darts a guilty look at Newt, and contemplates switching over into German before remembering that Newt can understand that language just as well. “Newt is a nice guy, really-“

“Oh, sure, I bet-“

“Like you’re one to talk anyway!”

“What does that-“

“Derek Singer.“

“Oh, you bastard!”

“Hans What’s-his-name.“

“Okay, fine, I’ve been with some questionable guys, not talking about me here! Why are you getting together with a guy that already hurt you once, c’mon Hermann!” 

“It’s- It’s different this time!”

“How, how is it different, he left you once already, how d’you know he won’t do that again!”

“I trust him!” Hermann says loudly. He remembers that Newt and Tendo are still both standing there and feels his face flare with heat. Tendo is kind of gazing up at the sky innocently as if he has no idea that there is a loud argument going on to the side of him, but he’s also smirking. Newt is staring intently at the ground. 

Karla goes silent for the first time, and Hermann seizes the chance to explain - turning his back on Newt and Tendo in the probably unreasonable hope that they might not be able to hear him - “I didn’t just spontaneously decide this, I assure you, I’ve thought it through, and he’s changed, and promised me that he won’t behave the way he did before - and I trust him. I do. He’s been very good to me- _Not_ that it’s any of your business!”

She says, at a far more reasonable decibel level, “Oh. Okay then.”

“What-“ Hermann shouts, only quieting with effort. “That’s all? ‘Okay then?’”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“You are so-“

“Hey, is Tendo there?”

“Wha- Yes?”

“Give him your phone.”

“Are you kidding me-“

They must still be entirely audible, because at this point Tendo reaches out and snatches the phone from Hermann’s hand, then promptly walks several paces away so that Newt and Hermann can’t hear him. 

Newt looks at him plaintively. “What is happening right now?”

Hermann sighs. “My sister came to visit me when I got hurt, and she met Tendo, and I guess they bonded or something ridiculous like that. They became ‘facebook friends’ apparently, and it’s just odd and I wish they would stop it, and she’s completely embarrassing.”

“Huh.”

“Um. I’m sorry about all that. I guess Tendo told her about what happened with us.”

“No, no,” Newt says quickly, “It’s fine.” He hesitates, and takes Hermann’s hand. “I’m glad that you trust me.”

“Oh. Well. You’ve, um, earned it,” Hermann mutters lamely, blushing again. If only Karla could see him now. She’d never stop teasing him for the rest of his life. 

Tendo is still earnestly talking to Karla on Hermann’s phone a few meters away, and the two stand side by side looking at him, Hermann frowning. “What’s your sister like?” Newt asks.

“Disturbingly like Tendo, actually,” Hermann says darkly, and Newt laughs nervously. Hermann does not find it particularly funny. 

“You know, dude, I don’t even know how many siblings you have,” Newt says. “That’s so weird.”

“Oh. I have three. There’s Karla, my older brother Dietrich, and my younger brother Bastien. I don’t really talk to them much though, other than Karla.”

“You still incommunicado with your dad?”

Hermann scowls. “No. I guess the hospital contacted him when I was hurt, so he visited me then, and he still calls me occasionally.” 

Newt is giving him a worried, sympathetic look, and opening his mouth, presumably to ask more questions, when Tendo returns and hands Hermann his now deactivated phone. “She hung up?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Without even saying good-bye- Of all the rude-“

Tendo blatantly ignores him. “Karla told me to tell you that if you break Hermann’s heart then she will see to it that you suffer an unfortunate accident,” he says to Newt. “I think that’s her way of saying she approves of you.”

“O-oh-“

“Oh, and keep in mind that she’s like, just as scary as Hermann, so I’m pretty sure she means the whole death threat thing.”  
“My life has been threatened by Gottliebs so often now that it doesn’t even bother me anymore,” Newt declares, rather unfairly in Hermann’s opinion. He doesn’t make death threats _that_ often. 

“You should meet Lars,” Tendo remarks. “Now he is scary.”

“I- You met him? I didn’t realize that,” Hermann says anxiously. Tendo nods and grimaces. “Oh god, was he awful- Of course he was. I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Tendo says with a shrug. “He was just worried about you.”

Hermann accidentally scoffs disbelievingly at this, and Tendo and Newt look at him with identical expressions, half concerned and half horrified. He thinks with resignation that Newt is going to interrogate him about this later. Well. It’s not _his_ fault that he cannot imagine his father being worried about him. Or being any emotion other than disappointed, really. 

He doesn’t really want to talk about it now - or ever, actually - so he says pointedly to Newt, “Don’t you have class _soon_?”

“Oh, yeah-“ Newt says vaguely, probably just to appease Hermann, which he appreciates. Newt digs his phone out of his pocket and says, “Shit, yes, I do, like right now.” 

“Guess we have to go, bye Tendo,” Hermann says, smirking, and Tendo sticks his tongue out at him. Newt tugs on his hand to pull him away, and the two start walking off.

“You two are holding hands and it’s adorable!” Tendo shouts threateningly after them. 

When they get out of sight of Tendo, Newt stops and turns to Hermann, biting his lip and going all puppy-dog eyed. “What is it?” Hermann says, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, well, it’s just, I really am going to be late, and my class is still on the other side of campus, and I kinda need to. Um. Run. Sorry.”

Newt looks so sad and apologetic and guilty, and Hermann finds it kind of strange because obviously this is something that ought to hurt a bit. He can’t run anymore, not really. He can sort of manage an incredibly undignified rapid skitter, but it’s not the same. He knows that, and clearly Newt does too, but somehow it doesn’t really bother him. “Oh, that’s fine. We’ve escaped Tendo, I’ll be fine. Don’t be late.” 

Newt hesitates a moment longer, scanning Hermann’s face, then goes on tiptoe to kiss him. Hermann doesn’t jerk away this time. He’s proud of himself. “You’re great,” Newt says seriously, then hoists his messenger bag on his shoulder and takes off running through campus. 

Hermann smiles faintly at the vanishing figure, but when Newt disappears from sight his smile fades. He still has forty-five minutes till his first class, so he finds someplace to sit, and suddenly regrets being alone. Maybe he should have stayed with Tendo, as obnoxious as Tendo undoubtedly would have been, because being alone means that he’s thinking, and that’s a terribly dangerous activity sometimes. 

He trusts Newt, he does. But maybe they did rush into this a bit. Kissing and an hour’s worth - or however long that conversation had been - of talking don’t really fix anything, right? And sure, Newt can say that this time he won’t just leave, but Newt is such a changeable creature. Hermann’s sure that Newt meant it when he said it, but that doesn’t guarantee he’ll mean it tomorrow, or a month from now, or a year…And why, _why_ is Hermann still unable to say those three simple words? _I love you_ , easy as that, why can’t he say it? Even if Newt does want to stay, how long will he want someone that can’t even say I love you?

He’s being stupid and anxious, he knows that. There’s the familiar feeling of tightness in his chest that he has come to associate with his anxiety. These are not necessarily real doubts, this is him panicking and listening to fear instead of logic. He takes a deep breath and does like Aleksis told him to, going back and correcting all the fallacies, although sometimes it’s hard to tell which are real and reasonable doubts and which are pure negativity. 

He trusts Newt. He loves Newt. Newt loves him. He will rely on these. A triangle has three sides and what goes up must come down and he trusts Newt. 

When he has managed to at least somewhat calm the wave of anxiety - although the tightness lingers, and he suspects it’s going to follow him the rest of the day - he feels rather guilty. He’s not a good boyfriend. He’s doubting Newt. It’s not very nice of him. 

He sighs. It’s going to be harder this time. It seems like it might still be a while before things can be easy and nice and simple with him and Newt, and the thought annoys him. His life is complicated enough, why does this have to be complicated too? _Newt is worth it_ , he tells himself, and he really sincerely means it, but he still would like to keep this as uncomplicated as possible. And now Tendo and his sister know, that’s going to make it more complex too…

It would be nice if it was easy. But nothing ever is. 

 

Newt meets him outside his last class of the day, which is nice, particularly as Hermann’s earlier anxiety has now faded, but when Hermann walks up to him, all he does is smile and greet him and turn away to start walking toward his car. No attempt to grab Hermann’s hand or kiss him. It’s not so very strange, but as Hermann had spent the last ten minutes or so mentally reminding himself to not be weird when Newt next attempted to be physically affectionate, it leaves Hermann off-balance. 

Newt chatters naturally all the drive home, but though Hermann purposely leaves his hand near the edge of his seat so that Newt could hold it, as he used to like to do when he drove when they were together last year, Newt does not so much as brush his hand against Hermann’s. When they reach Hermann’s apartment, he does not move to get out of his car. 

“I’ve gotta do some stuff at home,” he explains cheerfully. “I’ll come by later, kay?”

“Oh, of course, that’s fine,” Hermann agrees, sounding calmer than he feels. He hesitates before getting out of the car, and sort of half leans toward Newt, feeling more awkward by the second. 

“Bye,” Newt says brightly. He does not lean forward. He certainly does not kiss Hermann. 

Hermann manages to move back without flinching. “Good-bye,” he responds stiffly, and, after a moment more of lingering to see if Newt is going to try anything, he climbs out of the car, and stands watching as Newt drives off without another word. 

He has an instant of pure panic as he is standing in the elevator, convinced that he has done something to make Newt, his Newt, try-to-touch-Hermann-every-second-of-the-day Newt, addicted-to-PDA Newt, not want to even hold his hand. It was the flinching, wasn’t it, or, no, knocking him out of bed this morning, Newt acted like it was fine but of course he’s upset. Then Hermann wrenches his thoughts into some semblance of sanity and sternly tells himself that he is not that clingy, needy, person that becomes convinced their partner doesn’t like them anymore just because he didn’t kiss him or he wanted some personal space. That’s not who he is. If Newt wants to be alone for a few hours, that’s perfectly reasonable. In fact, it’s good, because much as he likes Newt, Hermann does get rather tetchy and irritated without a little bit of privacy, and he’s spent the majority of the last three days in Newt’s presence. Any more time will drive him crazy - in fact, that’s probably what this is, he’s going crazy and imagining things. It doesn’t mean anything that Newt didn’t try to hold his hand. How perfectly ridiculous. He just needs to spend some time alone, quietly studying, and then he’ll be back to himself. 

The problem is that it’s only four in the afternoon, and he barely has about two hours’ worth of work to distract him, so by six he’s already done and back to thinking about Newt. As if he’s some pathetic teenager who can’t think of anything other than their romantic interest. He keeps waiting for Newt to call him or show up, but by seven there is still no sign of him. 

He’s been eating dinner alone for months now, but tonight it feels lonely. What’s the point in having a boyfriend if you still have to eat alone? Why is Newt not _calling_ him?

He eats quickly, not really tasting the food, which is fine as the best he has ever been able to get at cooking is mediocre. He’s done by seven thirty. This is the point where he decides that he’s being really stupid and is _not_ just some lovelorn teenager that sits around waiting for his teenager, so he takes action and calls Newt himself. 

Newt sounds startled when he answers, making Hermann’s name into a question. It occurs to Hermann that he has not thought about exactly what he wants to say to Newt. 

“I was, um, wondering when you were planning on coming over,” he says, trailing off vaguely.

“I was thinking like ten or so? Like I usually do?” Newt says it in a normal, if slightly puzzled tone, but Hermann feels scolded somehow. 

“Oh, of course,” he says, although really it’s not _of course_. Ten? Hermann usually likes to go to bed pretty early, and he can’t help but think that ten won’t really leave time to _do_ anything. Not that he’s planning on doing anything; he’s still nervous about doing anything and would like more time to prepare for doing anything, both mentally and physically, but it’s a little disheartening to discover that Newt is also not planning on that. 

“So…see you then? If that’s all?”

“Yes, of course…well. I-“

“Yeah?”

“Newt, I know that earlier today I was being a little odd, um, in terms of you touching me, but that’s just- It didn’t mean anything, I simply am still adjusting to this change, it’s not that I don’t want you to do that. So, yes, you don’t need to stay away or anything, although of course if you want some space or so on, that’s perfectly fine and understandable, take as much as you like, really, you don’t even need to come over tonight if you prefer, or, or I could go to your place if you like-“ He’s babbling a little bit, now, and can’t seem to stop, but it’s not really a relief when Newt interrupts with:

“Oh, Hermann, no.”

No? Hermann offers to go over there, and- _No_? Goddammit- He’s trying to not sound clingy or needy, he hates clingy and needy, but he’s clearly massively fucking that up, why is he so _terrible_ at relationships?

“Oh, yes, of course, I’ll, um, not come over, give you some space. That’s fine. Uh, see you tomorrow?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Newt says hastily. “No. God no. That’s - I mean, either place is fine, but yeah, course I want to see you tonight. I, fuck, if I’ve been acting a little weird, it’s just that I’m adjusting to this too, and I guess I kinda…forgot.”

“Forgot?” Hermann echoes. 

“Yeah, like, that I could touch you and stuff. I mean, this past year, you kinda glared at me anytime I moved too close, and it felt like you would like hit me or something if I touched you - totally understandably - so I think I’ve kinda gotten out of the habit of, you know, being affectionate or whatever. It’s not anything to do with you. Sorry, I’m sorry, I was being kind of an idiot, wasn’t I…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Hermann says, relief flooding through him along with a little bit of embarrassment at his own, now foolish-seeming, worry. “Makes perfect sense, I just overreacted a bit. I was the idiot.”

“We can both be a bit dumb,” Newt says, and Hermann can tell from his tone that he’s smiling. “Um, actually, I’m still not quite done because I sorta procrastinated on something that I shouldn’t have, and I need stuff that I have here, but, uh, I could pick you up and you could hang out at my place tonight, if that’s okay?”

“That sounds good,” Hermann agrees, smiling a little himself. “See you soon.”

“See ya, Herm- Hermann. Um. Sorry.”

“No,” Hermann says slowly. “No, Herm is okay.” 

“…R-really? You sure?”

Hermann nods firmly, remembers that Newt can’t see that, and says, “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Oh! That’s great! Herm. That’s great. Um. I’ll be around soon.”

 _What do you know,_ Hermann thinks dryly as he hangs up, _talking_ can _help fix your problems. Who knew?_

They do not, to Hermann’s mixed relief and disappointment, end up _doing_ anything that night. Newt really is working on a project, so Hermann mostly sits around and watches him, offering criticism and advice until Newt loudly informs him that he is not a biology major and when Newt needs help on an astrology project he will let Hermann know.

“Astronomy, Newton, I study astronomy, not astrology.”

“Dude, I literally do not give a fuck.”

So then after that Hermann sits around sulkily quiet, reading Newt's worn out copy of _Jurassic Park_ and thinking that it sounds both like an awful idea and exactly like something Newt would do. At some point his reading of the novel slips into a peculiar but mostly un-alarming dream of Newt giving him a tour around an island filled with kaiju. He keeps telling Newt it’s a bad idea but Newt cheerfully insists that it will be fine, Herm, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek and whisper, “Hey, wake up.”

Hermann blinks open gummy eyes. He’s sprawled uncomfortably on Newt’s couch, his neck cricked at an uncomfortable angle, and Newt is leaning over him. Still half asleep, he mutters, “Newton, please do not genetically modify kaiju into existence, it’s clearly a bad idea.”

Newt lets out a startled laugh and Hermann wakes up a little more. “I dunno, Herm, it sounds like a pretty rad idea to me. Kaiju Park. Yeah, I think that would be badass.” 

Hermann sits up stiffly, glancing around at the apartment. “What time is it?”

“Uh, it’s like four in the morning.” When Hermann sends him an aghast look, he winces and says apologetically, “I got really focused and time got away from me, and I, uh, sorta forgot you were here, or else I would have woken you up sooner.”

“That’s really flattering, Newton, thank you.”

“Aw, dude, c’mon, s’like I said, I’m still adjusting.”

“No, it’s fine,” Hermann mutters, rubbing a hand over his tired face. Newt must have turned off most of the lights, it’s quite dark in here, and he peers around at the floor, trying to remember where he dropped his cane. “I just hope that in the future adjusting does not involve letting me sleep in such a bloody uncomfortable position. Dammit, where is my cane?”

“I’ll try my best,” Newt vows stoutly, and hauls Hermann up without a word. Then he ducks around the side of the couch and picks up his cane, offering it to him. “Although,” he adds more quietly, “it’s not always easy. This is, um, definitely not going to be easy, is it.”

“I think it’ll get better,” Hermann says, exhaustion reminding him that he had been in the middle of sleeping a few minutes ago.

“It has to!” Newt says expressively. “It has to, because today was basically kind of horrible. I mean, no offense to you, wasn’t your fault.”

“I think it counts as tomorrow now,” Hermann mumbles, leaning into Newt. His leg hurts a little bit from sleeping in such an odd position. 

“I still haven’t gone to sleep, so it’s still today for me.”

“Go to sleep, Newt.”

“Okay, Herm, let’s go to sleep - not on me, okay.”

Hermann really is still half asleep, so he lets Newt support him into the bedroom, then gratefully sprawls into his bed. Newt’s bed is so much bigger and nicer than his own, he’d forgotten that. It smells like him, too, which is mostly the fresh, clean scent of hair product. He doesn’t bother trying to change into pajamas, it seems pointless when he’s already slept half the night in his clothes. He’s fallen back asleep and into dreams of Kaiju Island - or was it a park - before Newt even climbs into bed with him. But he trusts that Newt must be there, because somehow a night full of dreams of the kaiju is not at all frightening. 

 

The next several days do go more smoothly. Hermann still stiffens at Newt’s touch on occasion, but Newt doesn’t take offense and waits until Hermann relaxes, and Hermann doesn’t push Newt out of bed again. Newt forgets once or twice that it’s okay to touch Hermann, but now when he does that, Hermann simply initiates it. 

Perhaps it’s because they are satisfied with these simple victories, perhaps they want to savor this level of simplicity, but neither moves beyond these established boundaries. Hermann still does not explicitly say his feelings for Newt. Neither tries to push past kissing. Hermann knows they will have to move beyond this eventually, but right now he’s content with things as they are. 

The fact that he doesn’t tell anyone outside of Tendo that he’s back with Newt has nothing to do with that. The simple and honest truth is that he doesn’t remember that he hasn’t told anyone until a week and a half later he and Newt very unexpectedly run into Stacker Pentecost at, of all places, a grocery store. 

It’s a Thursday evening, and Newt has found out that the project of a week ago has gotten a very good grade. To celebrate, he is cooking Hermann dinner. Hermann’s not really sure how that’s a reward for Newt, but when he doubtfully offers to cook instead, Newt wrinkles his lips and assures Hermann that that is very nice but really not at all necessary. So now they are, hand in hand, wandering the aisles of a Whole Foods - Newt is insisting that they have to use actually nice ingredients - and Hermann is wondering if he’s actually that terrible of a cook, when they turn into an aisle and there is Stacker Pentecost.

Hermann thinks, as he has thought before, that Stacker Pentecost always looks vaguely out of place in domestic settings. The man is always well-dressed - he seems to be the only exception to Herc’s categorical distrust of men in suits - and has the sort of military bearing that belongs on a military base or battlefield, not a small coffee shop or a grocery store. He’s a lawyer, apparently, and Hermann supposes that a courtroom is probably a more suitable setting for the man, if only just. 

Hermann stops dead at the head of the aisle, and Newt looks back at him with a startled expression. He can’t, for a moment, understand why Newt seems to have no idea what Hermann is reacting to, and then he recalls that Newt never actually met Stacker. Mr. Pentecost. (Hermann’s not entirely sure what to call him. His natural sense is Mr. Pentecost, but when he said that, sometime over the summer, Herc jovially corrected him to Stacker. Only, Mr. Pentecost had looked at him in a way that seemed to imply that it was merely because of Herc that he was tolerating such a thing as being called by his first name.)

Newt says, “Herm?” at nearly the same instant that Mr. Pentecost - Stacker - looks up from the box of pasta he is inspecting and sees Hermann. He carefully replaces the box of pasta on the shelf and, leaving his shopping cart behind, takes several strides to the two of them. Newt has followed Hermann’s gaze by now and is also looking at the intimidating figure of the much taller man with a puzzled frown that deepens when Stacker - Mr. Pentecost - dammit, this is confusing - says, “Gottlieb?”

Hermann decides spontaneously to trust his instincts and, with a nod, says, “Hello, Mr. Pentecost.” The man looks faintly approving at that, and Hermann feels a disproportionate sense of relief. People like Pentecost intimidate him. He admires the hell out of him, but is also vaguely intimidated. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Pentecost says in his precise accent as Newt looks increasingly confused. “Mako is doing well in school.”

“Ah. Yes. She’s a very smart girl, I really don’t think I do much to help.”

“Even just having someone speak to her in English is helpful,” Pentecost says firmly, and looks the tiniest bit pleased at the compliment to his daughter.

“Oh, well, I’m sure Chuck is just as helpful as me for that.” Pentecost looks politely disbelieving at this, but he doesn’t disagree. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Pentecost says, turning his attention to Newt, who abruptly looks intimidated too. That’s impressive. Newt is usually too dense to be intimidated by people.

Hermann suddenly realizes that he’s been holding Newt’s hand this whole time. Fuck. There’s no hiding that. Not that he wants to. But it’s definitely not an option now. Pentecost is too polite - too British - to ask if this is his boyfriend or anything so common as that, but it’s clear in his expression that he thinks so. Fuck. He swallows and goes for it.

“Newt, this is Stacker Pentecost, he’s, uh…” Hermann trails off, wondering if it’s okay to introduce Pentecost as being Herc’s boyfriend. No, he cannot possibly use boyfriend, one simply does not apply a word like ‘boyfriend’ to Stacker Pentecost. Partner? That doesn’t sound right either. He says hastily, “Mako’s father,” and hopes that Newt remembers who Mako is. He only met the girl once. But Pentecost seems to approve of his choice of identifier, so that’ll have to do, even if Newt is still looking extremely puzzled. “And this is, Newton Geiszler, my-“ Newt looks at him expectantly, and so does Pentecost, and there is an instant where Hermann knows that he is a truly terrible person but he cannot say it, he simply cannot say it. Only then he seems to be saying it anyway, even though he’s certain he didn’t give his mouth permission to speak. “My boyfriend.” 

Newt smiles at him and squeezes his hand a little, so at least there’s that. On the other hand, Pentecost is leaning back, consideringly, and repeats, “Newt…” Which, well, Pentecost and Herc were not officially a ‘couple’ until about a month after Newt broke up with him, but he probably still heard the story. He must have heard the story, because a moment later he says, “ _That_ Newt?” It’s probably the closest to rudeness that Hermann has ever seen him.

Newt goes rigid and his hand tightens again on Hermann’s. “Yes,” Hermann says stiffly. 

“I see,” Pentecost says slowly, carefully considering both of them. He commands such presence that the force of his gaze is nearly tangible. “Hm. You should bring him around the café sometime,” he says meaningfully. 

Hermann nearly adds 'sir' when he says “Yes,” again. He’s not sure why, perhaps from the military nature of the man - no, that’s a lie, it’s because Pentecost reminds him ever so faintly of his father, and when his father spoke to him like this he always knew that he was supposed to add 'sir' on.

“I’ll leave the two of you to your shopping,” Pentecost says quietly, and returns to his shopping cart. He decisively grabs a box of pasta, drops it into his cart, and steers it away with great dignity despite the tiny squeaking sound that seems to be coming from the wheels of his cart. 

“What just happened,” Newt says, turning to him with wide, perplexed eyes. “Who was that intimidating and extremely good-looking man and why am I ‘ _that_ Newt’ and, oh my god, you are like fucking scarlet.” 

Hermann drops his head onto Newt’s shoulder and moans, “That was humiliating.”

Newt pats him on the back and says again, “What is happening here?”

“That was- He’s Herc’s boyfriend, only you can’t just _say_ that about someone like that-“

“Ohhh, was Mako that little girl that Chuck befriended?”

Hermann nods his head against Newt’s shoulder. 

“Dang. Good for Herc. Scoring a guy like that. I mean, Herc is also pretty hot, so I guess it’s not a surprise-“

“Oh my _god_ , Newt-“

“What, he is! And so was that guy- Don’t deny it, Herm, I can totally tell you thought he was cute-“

“I do not!” Hermann protests vehemently, lifting his face from Newt’s shoulder. Newt smirks knowingly at him, and really Hermann’s face should not be able to get any hotter, but it does. “You’re terrible.” He puts his head on Newt’s shoulder again. 

“So if he’s Herc’s boyfriend - ooh, wow, you’re right, that does feel weird applied to someone as majestically terrifying as that guy - then I guess that would explain why I’m ‘ _that_ Newt’…huh. Do they all at the café totally hate my guts? How’d they take it when you told them we were back together?”

Hermann focuses very hard on trying to open a pit under his feet. Maybe all those dreams of collapsing buildings were prophetic. Maybe the roof is going to collapse on him this very instant and spare him this moment. 

“Herm?”

“Mm?” he murmurs vaguely, focusing harder on the ground. 

“Um. Herm. Did you mention we were back together?”

“Umm.”

“Hermann.”

Hermann mumbles something.

“ _Hermann_.”

Hermann picks up his head again, trying to put as much sincerity and apology in his face as he can manage. “It absolutely does not mean anything, Newt, and you should not put any symbolic or psychological meaning into it because it’s purely a mistake on my part, it’s really a small thing, but, I, ah, I forgot to tell. Anyone.” 

“Oh. Huh.”

“I mean, I’ve only been to the café once since we got together, it’s really nothing personal, Newt-“

“No, no, I believe you,” Newt assures him quickly. “And I guess that explains the whole, mildly threatening, ‘you should bring him around sometime’ thing.”

“Oh god,” Hermann moans, again dropping his head to Newt’s shoulder. “Now they’re all going to think I’ve been keeping you a secret and I haven’t.” 

“You can just explain that it’s barely been two weeks-“

“And Chuck is going to look at me with that disappointed and confused expression.” 

“At least he won’t try and kill you.”

“…he _is_ going to try and kill you.”

“I know. I’m kinda scared of that kid, to be honest.”

Hermann sighs and wonders what Herc and Stacker will think of him now. Newt must read his mind, because he pats Hermann’s back again and says comfortingly, “C’mon, Herm, they aren’t going to think less of you just for getting back together with your ex. And maybe keeping it from them. Unless chuck’s changed since last time I saw the kid, he thinks that you literally make the sun rise and set, and I’m pretty sure that Herc adores you solely because his kid does. That’s not gonna change. And who cares if it does, right?”

“Everything’s so bloody hard,” Hermann mutters, which isn’t a response. 

“I know,” Newt agrees. “But we’re definitely doing better.”

Hermann sighs again. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

“…you’re happy, right, Herm?”

He lifts his head for the third time, and steps back a little so he can look properly into Newt’s face. He said the question innocently enough, but the way he keeps his gaze trained on Hermann makes it clear that the answer is important to him. Hermann means to say ‘yes,’ he means to assure Newt that he is happy, really truly, because it’s true. He is happy with Newt. It’s difficult and it’s not always perfect, but it’s true. He means to say that. It’s not what he says.

“Of course, Newt. I love you.”

It comes out so simply and easily, drifting out into the air between them. Some calm, distant, irrational part of Hermann is thinking disappointedly that a grocery store is an even less appropriate place than an aquarium to say that the first time- or, no, this isn’t precisely the first time. The first sober time. The first sober time, and they are surrounded by pasta instead of axolotls. How ridiculous. The rest of Hermann is pure, confused panic. 

Newt stares at him, lips parting, blank incomprehension on his face. Then he jerks back, one hand flying to his mouth, his cheeks turning bright red in an instant. “Oh- Oh my god- Hermann-“ he stammers, then nothing more. 

Hermann feels slightly disconnected from his body. 

At least several centuries of silence unfold, empires rising and falling as Newt and Hermann stare at each other in the pasta aisle of Whole Foods, until at last Hermann manages to say in a strained voice, “Newt, I need you to say something.”

Newt jerks back into life and lunges across the aisle at him, arms coming up around Hermann’s neck. Despite his rapid movement, he’s careful to not put too much weight on Hermann. “I love you, Hermann Gottlieb, I love you so much, I really, really love you,” he whispers fiercely into Hermann’s ear. “Thank you.”

“W-why are you saying thank you?”

“It makes me really happy to hear you say it.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I knew you felt that way, but it’s still really awesome to hear it.”

“I, um, also enjoy hearing you say it.”

Newt moves so that he’s face to face with Hermann again, smiling at him before kissing him gently. “You’re the best,” he says when he pulls away. 

Hermann, rather overcome at this point, looks fixedly at the box of macaroni beyond Newt’s head and says stiffly, “Let’s just get back to our shopping.”

Newt giggles - that bastard - and says, “Sure.” He makes a show of consulting his shopping list, giving Hermann a chance to rub at his overheated cheeks. He’s still mildly panicking over having actually said it at last. It’s the first time - first time sober - he’s ever said that to a boyfriend. And, well, of course it was ridiculous to think that Newt would take it badly or not reciprocate or reject him, considering that Newt has already expressed the same sentiment more than once, but he’d still been afraid of that for a second. 

They proceed down the aisle in silence again - Hermann will surely never look at the pasta aisle of grocery stores the same way again - and are just about to turn into the next one when Newt says, “Hey, Herm?”

“Mm?”

“Can you say it again?” 

“Ah-“ Newt is looking at him with a sweet, hopeful smile and wide eyes and is just generally being cute, and is probably perfectly aware that he is doing so. Bastard. Hermann stares at the tile floor and mutters, “I love you.”

Newt makes a sort of squeaking noise and whispers, “Oh my god, you’re so cute, I can’t handle it, you’re so fucking cute, Hermann, fuck-“

“S-shut up,” Hermann hisses, and when Newt does not, starts walking faster, so that he is striding quickly down the aisle with Newt trailing behind and calling him cute. It’s impressive they manage to get any shopping done at all. 

But they do, and when they get back home Newt makes a really good meal that leaves Hermann gloomily concluding that his cooking really is that bad. “Congratulations on your good grade,” he tells Newt.

“Dude, fuck that, we are now totally celebrating you saying you love me. And also how cute you look when you keep blushing like that.”

Hermann scowls and glares down at his plate of food. Newt gave him a ridiculously large serving. “Um. Newt.”

“Yeah?”

“Um, I have to go to Striker tomorrow to tutor the kids…would you please pick me up?”

Newt understands him so well by this point. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely.”

Hermann peers back at him with a faint smile, and is considering perhaps saying those stupid words again - it does seem to make Newt happy - when Newt sighs with martyr-like bravery, “Besides, I’ve lived a long enough life already. It’s time I accept my death by small Australian child. Farewell, Hermann, I have loved you well. Tell my parents I died bravely.”

“Good lord, you are completely ridiculous.”

He’s pretty sure Newt knows by now that that means the same thing as certain other words.


	16. Kiss You Where It's Sore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A variety of things go wrong, but end up working out in the end.
> 
> I think this is the first time I've written an accurate chapter summary in like, weeks. Normally I just like to write cryptic comments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Regina Spektor's Better, and I love that song and I've been planning to use it for like EVER.

April 18 - 26, 2014

Newt dawdles outside of the glass front of Striker’s, peering in through the window. He’s kind of afraid that Hermann won’t be there. He’s looked for Hermann here so many times, and he knows now that Hermann wasn’t there those times because he hasn’t been able to work with his injury, but he still can’t help but remember the smack of disappointment that had hit him in the face every time he had failed to see Hermann in the shop these past few months. (He still doesn’t know who the hell that mysterious blond kid is.) 

But no, there he is, in the same corner as ever, Chuck and Mako beyond him, the children’s heads bent studiously over the table. Newt smiles at the image, his heart feeling all warm and fuzzy and all that stupid stuff. Chuck is definitely going to kill him, but Newt will be happy dying having heard Hermann Gottlieb say the words “I love you” of his own volition and in his right mind. He definitely said it. He said it more than once, blushing furiously, and it’s sort of the best thing ever. 

Newt takes a deep breath and refocuses on the present. He pushes the door open reluctantly, jumping when the bell over the door chimes loudly. He forgot that it did that. He hasn’t actually been inside Striker’s in ages. The familiar smell of coffee hits him. 

Herc, who is working the counter, looks up to greet the customer, a “Welcome to Striker Eureka” dying on his lips when he sees that it’s Newt. Newt smiles nervously at him. “Geiszler,” he says consideringly. “S’been a while.”

The trio in the corner looks up at him at this, Hermann doing that thing at him where he doesn’t quite smile but crinkles the corners of his eyes as if he is. Mako frowns, probably trying to remember if she knows at him. Chuck’s reaction is the most dramatic, and would probably make Newt laugh in a different circumstance. 

“YOU!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and pointing dramatically at Newt. 

“Hi, Chuck.”

“What are _you_ doing here!” 

“He’s here to pick me up,” Hermann says calmly. 

This seems to derail Chuck. His mouth falls open and he stutters, “W-what? You’re talking to that guy again?”

Hermann nods. 

“But- After everything he did! He’s a jerk, why would you?”

Hermann hesitates, glancing around the room, eyes flicking over Newt, Herc, a random pair of customers in the corner looking confused and fascinated, and returning to Chuck. “I forgave him,” he says simply. 

This seems to make Chuck angrier. “But he left you! How could you?” he shouts, and Herc snaps, “Oi, Chuck!” 

Mako, still looking out of her depth, tugs on Chuck’s arm and says something in Japanese. Chuck jerks away from her and growls, “It’s _not_ okay! You can’t just do that, you can’t just leave and then come back and have it all be okay! It’s not- It’s not right!” 

Newt glances involuntarily at Herc. This was not exactly the reaction he was expecting. Murderous anger, sure, but not like this. Chuck seems so betrayed, more betrayed than Newt would have expected of this situation. Herc is staring at his kid, looking sort of far away, an unexpected expression of grief on his face. 

Hermann must understand better than Newt what’s happening, because he says with surprising gentleness - it’s not that Hermann can’t be gentle, but it’s so rare from him - “He’s not going to leave again, Chuck.”

“Yes, he will!” Chuck shouts. “Everyone does!” 

Hermann looks as if he’d like to say more, but before he can, Chuck shoves back his chair - it lets out a large screech on the floor - and runs out of the shop, veering angrily around Newt to get to the door. “Oh dear,” Hermann murmurs, staring after him with an anxious frown. “That was worse than I was expecting.”

Hermann starts to stand up, but Herc shakes himself out of his reverie and says, “No, I’ll go after him. He’ll probably be upset for a while, you two had better just go home.”

“Sorry,” Newt says as Herc walks by him, not really sure why he’s saying it but feeling that he ought to. 

“Just don’t fuck it up this time, Geiszler,” Herc growls, and then vanishes from the shop too.

Hermann is still standing at the small corner table, still frowning, so Newt crosses the shop to him. “Hey,” he says, for lack of anything better to say. 

Before Hermann can respond, Mako accusingly says, “You are Newt.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Newt admits. 

“Chuck hates you,” she informs him.

“I caught that.” 

She transfers her gaze to Hermann. “He will be okay.”

“I know,” Hermann sighs. 

“That boy is more trouble than he is worth,” she intones seriously. It sounds rather like she’s repeating someone. Newt wonders whether she’s mimicking Herc or her terrifying guardian of the day before. Either seems likely. 

“That’s certainly true,” Hermann agrees. 

“But he will be okay. I will talk to him,” Mako says, and the girl is all of ten and she’s tiny and wearing a bright blue lace bow in her short hair, but Newt has no doubt that she will talk to Chuck, and Chuck will probably listen. 

Newt is trying not to laugh at this mature little girl, but Hermann nods and says with equal seriousness, “Thank you, Mako.” Newt is temporarily overwhelmed with love for Hermann again. That’s happening a lot lately. He just rides it out. “I think we had better leave before Chuck gets back. You’ll be all right on your own?”

“Of course,” Mako says, and it’s a dismissal. Hermann and Newt say bye, and Hermann gets his jacket, and they leave the shop. Newt is parked nearby, and they mostly stay quiet on the walk there, not talking until they reach the car. 

“That didn’t go well,” Newt remarks as Hermann buckles up. 

“Chuck has issues. Particularly with people leaving, what with all that went down with his parents,” Hermann says. 

“Yeah, I caught that.”

“He’ll come around, I think. Might take him a bit though. I’d better try to talk to him tomorrow, I think.”

“Should I come with?”

“Probably best if you don’t,” Hermann says apologetically. “But you can pick me up next week?” 

Newt takes his focus off of traffic long enough to smile at Hermann. “I look forward to it.” 

Hermann fails to notice this, as he is frowning out at the street. “Are we going to your place?” 

“Hell yeah, I’ve got leftovers and you’ve got a black hole instead of a refrigerator.” 

“Why are you so obsessed with me and eating?” Hermann complains, and Newt wonders if it’s time to admit the truth or if Hermann will still be pissed. But then it seems to be a rhetorical question, and Hermann continues without giving him time to answer, “You’re so _odd_.” 

“Yup, that’s me. Odd,” Newt agrees. 

They hang out idly at Newt’s apartment for a few hours where nothing much happens. Hermann declares that he needs to study and he would appreciate it if Newt would be _quiet_ , for _once_ , and then does that thing where he gets so invested in what he’s doing that he starts muttering under his breath in German. It’s mostly equations, from what Newt can tell. Newt curls up in the armchair to reread his battered copy of Jurassic Park - which Hermann finished several days ago and called ‘interesting’ in an ominous way - and listens with an amused smile to Hermann. He makes sure to wipe his expression innocently blank whenever Hermann glances at him. 

He makes Hermann stop around seven to eat dinner, leftovers of their celebratory dinner of the night before. He’d never tried cooking that recipe before. It turned out better than he expected, or, at least, Hermann enjoys it, so that counts as success to Newt. As they do the dishes - Hermann washing, Newt drying, because Hermann insists that dishwashers don’t do a good enough job - Hermann asks him how he’s good at cooking. He puts on his best snooty British accent and says, “It’s just sciences, really, it’s easy, my good man!” 

“I don’t sound like that,” Herm growls, as he always does. He’s so fucking easy to tease. 

“You pretty much do.”

“Dude, at least I don’t sound like a hella distressed hamster,” Hermann retorts in a squeaky, rounded American accent.

“Okay, one, ow. A hamster, Herm, really? And did you have to go that high? I’m not that high pitched. Two, that was actually really good, how did you do that.”

“I spend lots of time around you, Newton, I know what you sound like,” Hermann says, back to his ordinary voice. 

“You should know that I hate being called ‘Newton,’ then,” Newt grumbles.

“You love it,” Hermann says mercilessly. 

“How dare you,” Newt gasps, putting the hand holding the dishcloth over his heart and doing his best to look Hurt and Wounded.

Hermann ignores his tragic look in favor of handing him a plate. “This is the last dish.”

Newt dries it cursorily, shoves it into the nearest open cupboard, and grabs Hermann’s arm lightly before he can walk away. “You’ve got soap foam on your face, Herm, just let me get that for you,” Newt murmurs, and presses his mouth up against the sharp edge of one of Hermann’s cheekbones.

“Newton, are you licking soap off my face, because I don’t think that’s safe to ingest.”

“No, idiot, I lied, there’s no soap on you.”

“Just checking,” Hermann murmurs before Newt moves from Hermann’s cheeks to his mouth, Hermann parting his lips eagerly. 

He crowds Hermann, carefully, up against the counter, both hands gripping his narrow shoulders but putting as little weight on him as possible. Hermann braces himself up against the edge of the counter, one hand balancing on the surface, the other arm wrapped around Newt’s waist. They stay that way for a moment before Newt drops his left hand to Hermann’s hips and slips his hand under Hermann’s sweater, resisting the urge to moan merely from grazing his hand across the jut of his hip bone. Those hips. Fuck. He goes to lift his hand higher, but, close to Hermann as he is, he can feel the way that Hermann stiffens, his body going from loose to tense in an instant. Newt stops moving too and leans back a little, breaking the kiss.

“Herm-“

“Newt, your hands are wet,” Hermann mumbles, not meeting his eyes. 

“We don’t have to do anything yet,” Newt says quietly, taking a step back. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“It’s not that I’m not- I’m just- Not.” 

Newt smiles at him, making sure it’s a genuinely warm and affectionate expression. “That was not particularly coherent, but s’fine, Herm, whatever.” He leans in enough to press as non-aggressive a kiss as possible on his lips, then steps back the rest of the way, busying himself with putting away the dishcloth and soap and other cleaning things that are still out. “I think I put that plate in the cup cupboard.”

“No, you put it in the silverware drawer,” Hermann tells him, still leaning up against the counter, voice returning to normal.

“Wow, that’s sad, that’s not even close to where it belongs. Look at what you’ve done to me, with soap on your face.”

“You said there wasn’t actually soap on my face.”

“I’m a liar.”

“Wait, but which time were you lying, when you said it was there or when you said it wasn’t? Newton?”

“It’s a mystery,” Newt says in a sing song voice, winking at Hermann. 

“If you die of soap poisoning it’s not my fault,” Hermann says, and releases the counter at last, walking back into Newt’s living room.

“I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t die from eating, like, a single bubble. Not that I’m saying that I did. Or did not. But even if I did, I don’t think people die from that, Herm, or even get sick, really,” Newt says, following after him and, after a quick glance to gauge his mood, sitting next to him on the couch. Hermann presses up against him casually, so Newt is reassured that there really is nothing wrong. 

“I guess we’ll find out tonight.”

“I’m not gonna die from a bubble, Herm, I promise.”

“You’d better not, how would I ever explain that to your parents?”

Newt considers, then shrugs and says, “They’d probably find that pretty in keeping with the rest of my life.” 

Hermann crinkles into a small smile at this. “That’s true.” 

Newt leans over and kisses the faint laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. “You’re cute.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, Herm?”

“Yeah?”

“Say it again?”

Hermann lets out a little huff of breath, the one that Newt has come to know means, you’re ridiculous, but he says softly, “I love you.” 

Newt kisses him again, on the mouth this time, and murmurs, “Love you too,” after. 

 

He doesn’t try anything over the next week, figuring it’s best to let Hermann set the pace. Friday was only two weeks into actually being romantic, after all, so probably a bit early. Nothing to worry about. And, okay, Newt hasn’t had sex with anyone since, like, late July of last year, which is a pretty long dry spell for him, and he’d really like to sorta put his hands all over Hermann, but it’s not like he’s a barbarian, he can hold himself back. He really doesn’t want to pressure or influence Hermann into this at all. 

The week goes pretty well for the most part. Newt just kind of enjoys things slipping into an easy pattern. He and Hermann hang out most, but not every, night. They continue to (non-sexually) sleep together. Hermann smiles more easily and more often. He says “I love you” without Newt even having to prompt him. Tendo mocks both of them mercilessly. It’s all just…really nice. Super fucking nice, actually. Newt can’t stop smiling. He missed this. 

Of course, it’s not like everything is perfect. Wednesday, Hermann comes home with his mouth drawn in a tight line and refuses to tell Newt for a few hours what is wrong. He won’t let Newt comfort him either. Newt tries not to push. Sometimes Hermann needs to be pushed, other times he needs space, and Newt suspects this is the second. He must be right, too, because after a couple hours of doing physics and looking bad-tempered, he confesses to Newt, with a thunderous scowl, that he had a kind of bad day and thinks he nearly had another panic attack. 

“Oh.” Newt frowns too and comes to sit next to him. This time, Hermann lets him come in close and even drops his head onto Newt’s shoulder with a sigh. “But you didn’t actually have one?”

“No.”

“That’s good, at least.”

“I suppose,” Hermann says reluctantly. “I guess I just hoped that was all over and done with now.”

“Don’t think that’s how it works, Herm.”

“Yes, Newton, I know, it’s a process, whatever. It’s just frustrating. I _have_ been feeling better lately, so this is…frustrating.”

“I know, babe. I’m sorry.” 

Hermann edges a little closer and says, his voice now kinda muffled from being pressed up close to Newt, “It’s really shitty to know that this is something I’ll always have to work on.” 

“You’re a badass, you know.” 

Hermann lets out a little huff of air like a laugh. “Thank you, Newton.”

“I like that you no longer argue with me when I say that.” 

“Seems pointless. And, I suppose, I do kind of like when you say it.” 

Newt smiles. “That’s good. You’re supposed to like it.”

“Like you too,” Hermann says, voice even more muffled. 

“Good. You’re supposed to.” 

Hermann semi-laughs again, and Newt grins, feeling pleased with himself. 

 

Friday, Newt once again arrives in front of Striker’s to pick up Hermann, only to find Herc and Mako alone in the shop with no sign of Hermann or Chuck. Herc is looking harassed. “He just ran out all of a sudden, the little brat,” he snaps. “Gottlieb went after him, ‘bout five minutes ago. Should be back soon.” 

“Oh. Um. Okay. I’ll wait here then,” Newt says uncomfortably. Fortunately, some customers come in shortly after him, so Herc is distracted by that. Newt lurks in the corner. Mako stares at him. 

“Are you Hermann’s boyfriend?” she asks. She still has an accent, but her English is amazingly improved from last year, Newt thinks. 

He shrugs and glances at Herc. “Yeah.” 

“But you left, before. Hermann was sad.”

Newt sighs and fidgets and says “Yeah,” again. 

“Chuck hates people that leave,” she says seriously. The bell over the door rings, but Newt keeps his gaze trained on the little girl. “And he likes Hermann very much. So he hates you. Why did you leave?”

Fuck. How is he gonna explain this to a ten year old? “I was kinda confused about what I wanted. So I made a stupid decision.” 

Mako is clearly unimpressed by this. “I do not understand what you mean,” she enunciates. 

He half-glances toward the door, then sighs again. He sits down in the seat Hermann normally occupies, kiddy corner from Mako. “Okay. So it’s like this. Last year, I- Do you know what you want to be when you grow up yet?”

Mako eyes him up suspiciously, as if she thinks he’s trying to pull a fast one on her, but she answers, “Yes,” with great certainty. “I am going to be a police officer.”

Looking into the girl’s intent eyes, Newt has no doubt that she will achieve this, or whatever else she wants to do ten years from now, and probably be better at it than anyone else. “Oh. That’s awesome. Well, you’re lucky, to know what you want already. I’m lots older than you and I’m still not really sure. But last year, I really thought I wanted to be a rock star - that’s, um, a person that plays music. And I was kinda stupid, and I didn’t think I could do that and stay with Hermann. So I left him. But then I realized that, well…It was like, even though I liked playing music, it was just way less fun than it would have been if I was with Hermann. Plus, I wasn’t so sure anymore that I even wanted to be a rock star. But I was sure that whatever I did, I wanted to do it with Hermann around. Pretty much anything would be fun as long as I was doing it with Hermann. So I knew that I had to come home, to him.”

“So why were you gone so long?”

Newt laughs a little. “Hermann is pretty difficult, you know. It took him a while to forgive me. I’ve been back for a while; he just wouldn’t let me come around until recently.”

Mako considers all this, then “Do you love him?”

Newt smiles. “Yeah. I do.” 

Mako nods. “Okay. I will accept you then.” Newt manages to not laugh at her. She’s perfectly serious, she means ever word she is saying, and it’s pretty obvious both of the kids genuinely care about Hermann, so it’s really not fair of Newt to laugh at them. Then, unexpectedly, Mako nods, as if at someone standing behind them. 

Newt half turns in his seat and sees, as he probably should have totally expected, Hermann and Chuck standing a few feet away. Hermann is smiling at Newt, a full on smile that makes it totally obvious that he heard pretty much all of that. Chuck is looking up at Hermann, frowning, not angrily, more a wistful look as if he’s slightly heartbroken. “You’re smiling,” he says softly, and Hermann starts and turns to him, but before he can respond, Chuck folds his arms and glares at Newt. “Fine,” he snarls. “I guess I’ll accept you too. But it doesn’t mean I trust you or like you or anything. You better not mess up again!” 

“I won’t,” Newt promises. “I’m not gonna leave this time, I swear.”

“I tell you,” Mako says to Chuck, looking pleased with herself. Newt finds himself wondering how much of this was set up. From the expression on Hermann’s face, he’s wondering the same. Chuck storms over to her and slouches into the seat next to him. It’s probably a total coincidence that he stomps really hard on Newt’s foot as he passes him. It’s only through a great force of will and the sincere desire to make amends with Chuck that Newt doesn’t shout _Fuck_ really loudly. He thinks it, though. 

“We should get going,” Hermann says, still smiling at Newt. Newt smiles back even though his foot hurts like a bitch. 

“I’ll see you kids next week,” Newt promises as he stands up. He has to limp a little on his bruised foot. That kid is a brat. Although, to be fair, Newt deserved that.

“See you next week,” Mako agrees. Chuck frowns and doesn’t say anything until Mako nudges him, at which point he mumbles something that could be a farewell.

When Newt and Hermann get out of the café, Hermann stops in the sidewalk and pulls Newt closer so that he can kiss him. PDA is rare enough from Hermann that when he pulls away, Newt says, grinning, “What was that for?”

“That was nice, what you said in there,” Hermann murmurs. “I know you explained that to me already, but still, that was nice.” 

“I meant it all.”

“I know,” Hermann says and kisses him again, a nice, lingering sort of kiss that almost makes Newt forget they are standing in the middle of the sidewalk, particularly when Hermann puts one hand down Newt’s back pocket. This is the equivalent of taking his pants of in public for Hermann. Newt gasps and Hermann says, “Shall we go home?” in that voice that Newt thinks of as being his sexy voice. Newt nods, wide-eyed, and tugs Hermann back to the car. 

Hermann, of course, doesn’t try anything in the car. Newt had tried, one time last year, to persuade him to experiment in the car, but even when the car was securely parked in a very dark and abandoned parking lot, Hermann completely refused. He definitely would never do anything while Newt was driving - he’s probably even less likely now than last year - but he does keep looking at Newt with this playful half-smile that drives Newt crazy. 

He goes back to his place mostly because he’s not thinking especially coherently at this point and is driving on instinct. Hermann doesn’t protest. He keeps kissing Newt’s neck as Newt tries to unlock the door. It’s extremely distracting, and Newt’s weird-as-fuck neighbor wolf whistles at them as he walks out of his apartment, but Newt is highly motivated to open the door and gets the lock quickly despite Hermann.

They don’t get much farther than the doorway at first, Hermann dropping his bag and quickly removing his shoes in the entryway, and then pushing Newt up against the door and kissing him. Newt is more than happy with this situation, although some part of him is wondering where this is going. If it’s going _there_. That would be nice, but- Then Hermann pulls away, and though it leaves Newt aching a bit, he’s almost relieved. He wants to know that Hermann is completely ready before they do anything. Except then he realizes that Hermann is pulling away so that he can go to the bedroom. 

“Oh. Well. Okay then,” he mutters, and shoves his shoes off before following willingly after. Hermann is sitting on his bed by the time Newt reaches the doorway, looking up at him in this expectant way that makes Newt want to take a picture of him, so that he can remember that expression forever. And then fuck his brains out. 

Instead, he stops in the doorway with a serious force of will. “You sure about this, Herm? I mean, you definitely ready?” 

“Do I look ready?” Hermann demands, and wow, Newt has to admit that he does look ready. Really ready. With his legs all parted and his shirt untucked, he’s just perfectly ready and also perfect and Newt is himself definitely ready, so he decides to stop thinking and worrying. He strips his shirt off in one swift movement and flings himself onto the bed, kneeling between Hermann’s legs. 

At first they are just kissing and it’s great. Kissing is always great, and Newt has always liked this particular sort of kissing, the kissing that is clearly and definitely a prelude to sex. Hermann makes that lovely whimpering sound in the back of his throat that Newt likes so much and tugs a bit on his hair. He moves his mouth to Newt’s neck and sucks hard, and Newt had forgotten that Hermann seems to like giving him hickeys. Newt giggles. He is ambivalent to hickeys himself, but he likes the idea that Hermann likes it, that Hermann is marking him. 

Newt drags his hands across Hermann’s torso. He’s wearing a button-up today, so Newt dedicates himself to unbuttoning it. He’d like to go all macho man and tear it open, but Hermann gets mad at him when he rips his shirts, so Newt carefully undoes each button. He manages to get it open quickly enough, and pulls the pieces of cloth apart so that he can at last, after fucking months, look at that beautiful chest and-

He goes still, looking at that beautiful chest. All the things he always liked so much are there, the long spreads of smooth, pale skin and the jut of his fantastic hipbones and all of that. But then there’s also scars. A few faint ones where the skin is just a bit rougher, probably from scrapes. Some small white lines that must have needed stitches. A long jagged one that starts above his right hipbone and continues down out of sight below the waist of his pants.

Hermann stops moving a second after Newt, following his line of sight to the scars, the smile and flush dying off of his face. Newt surely only looks at the marks for a few seconds, but by the time he turns his gaze back to Hermann’s face, Hermann looks white and almost- afraid, Newt thinks, and sad, too. The look on his face kinda breaks Newt’s heart, and at once he leans forward, bracing his arms on either side of Hermann, so he can kiss him again, sweet and careful this time. “I’m sorry, I was just startled,” he murmurs. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Hermann says, and Newt can’t decide whether or not to believe him. But he kisses Newt back, and kisses the mark that Newt can feel blooming on his neck, and runs his hands over his chest, so Newt relaxes back into it and ignores the feeling of uncertainty in the back of his head. 

They focus again on just kissing for a bit, Newt feeling almost as if they have to start over again, and when it starts to feel natural again Newt moves his way down to Hermann’s chest and trails kisses down his stomach, trying to ignore the faint marks on his skin. Scars. Of course he would have some scars. Nothing to worry about. Hermann kind of moans at him, so he really can’t worry. God. He loves the sounds Hermann makes. Hermann normally tries to not be loud and to muffle himself, so Newt’s constant goal is to make him make sounds that he can’t hold back. 

He starts to unzip Hermann’s pants, his fingers shaking a little at this point, and has to part Hermann’s legs a bit more, and then tugs at his waistband and his legs and he’s not sure what he does exactly, but he must forget to be gentle, because Hermann makes this sound that has Newt freezing to stone even before Hermann gasps, “Ow- Newt- stop-“ 

It was not a good sound. It’s the sort of sound that slams you in the stomach and shivers through your bones. It was a sound that Newt will probably never forget. If he never makes Hermann make that sound again it will be too soon. 

“Oh, god, I’m sorry, did I hurt you, are you okay?” Newt babbles, looking up at Hermann’s face anxiously. He’s gone white and drawn. Newt feels a little bit sick. He’s still kneeling between Hermann’s legs, and he scrambles backward off of the bed. “Oh my god, Herm, I’m so sorry-“ 

Hermann moves his legs and says “ _ow_ ” again. “It’s- It’s fine, Newt, it just- My leg.” 

Newt is sure he must be the worst person in the world. “I’m so sorry,” he says helplessly. “I’m really sorry- Can I do anything?”

“No, it’s just- it hurts,” Hermann says, voice strained. He closes his eyes and grimaces.

Newt bites his lips, wondering if he should just be silent, and instead says, “Can I get you like, a Tylenol or something?”

Hermann hesitates, then nods. Newt bolts from the room, grateful for something to do. He’s shaking at this point which makes finding the Tylenol among the mess of his medicine drawer kind of hard, and opening it even harder. Then he realizes he still needs a source of water, so he runs into the kitchen to get a glass, and nearly drops it, and nearly spills the water.

He’s panicking a little, he realizes, so he puts the cup down long enough to take a deep breath and pull himself together. Okay. So he hurt Hermann. It was an accident. He can’t help if he’s freaking out. He needs to focus on Hermann right now, not on panicking. 

He remembers to not run as he carries the cup back into the bedroom, and successfully avoids spilling the water. Hermann is in the same spot on the bed, his shirt still open and jeans unzipped, but with his legs no longer splayed and with one hand laying across his eyes. Newt frowns and tries not to go mad with worry. 

“I, uh, I brought you a Tylenol,” he says, coming to stand by him and holding out the water in one hand and the pills in his other cupped palm. 

“Oh,” Hermann says, pulling his hand away and sitting up with another grimace. He looks miserable. Newt’s heart hurts. Hermann takes the pill and water without looking at Newt and downs it quickly, then puts the cup on the bedside table and slides back into his previous position, hand and all. “Thank you,” he says in a muffled voice. He _sounds_ miserable.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Newt asks tentatively. Maybe he did something to the nerve. Maybe he should convince Hermann to go to the hospital. 

But Hermann shakes his head once and says, very quietly, “More my pride.” 

“Oh, Herm,” Newt whispers. He glances around the room, wondering what to do, then sees the afghan he keeps folded next to his bed in case he gets cold at night. He scoops it up and walks around to the other side of the bed. He lays the blanket over Hermann and gets onto the bed, climbing under the blanket and curling up next to him, splaying one hand across his chest. He kisses his neck, purely for the form of contact. “You know I love you, right?”

“I just feel stupid, Newt. I’m sorr-“ 

“No, shut up. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I should have been gentler. Was I hurting you a lot?”

“No- I mean, it hurt a little, but it was okay, then all of a sudden, it…wasn’t.” 

“Herm, you’ve gotta tell me as soon as it starts to hurt, okay. I really don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“I know, I just- I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“What?”

“I…I don’t know,” he says again, voice rough in a way that makes Newt suspect he does know. He sighs, then admits quietly, “I haven’t felt very sexy in a while, I suppose, and so I...It really is stupid.”

“No, no, no,” Newt says at once. “Not stupid. Oh, Herm.” He props himself up on one elbow so that he can lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “You _are_ sexy, Hermann. All the time.” Hermann frowns a little and doesn’t say anything. Newt lies back down, propping his head on Hermann’s bony shoulder as a pillow. “You are, Herm, I swear. Really. You’re completely gorgeous. The scars and the cane don’t take away from that- In fact, I think they add to it. Makes you all mysterious.” Hermann still doesn’t say anything, but Newt can feel him huff out a disbelieving breath. “I mean it! You’re so sexy. You’re gorgeous. Definitely the best looking guy I’ve ever dated. You’ve got those killer cheekbones, and your eyelashes would make a llama jealous. And your body, don’t even get me started on that, you’re so skinny and pale and beautiful. Your hipbones are just, beautiful, dude, if I could write poems I would write poems dedicated to your hips. And also your butt. Then there’s your legs, they deserve epics about them, you really have the sexiest legs of anyone I know, so, like, long and slim. You are just all over totally completely mind-blowingly gorgeous. Beautiful. And we are gonna figure this out, Herm, if we have to try every single position in the _Kama Sutra_ \- which I doubt we will, we probably just need to be gentler - but yeah, we’re gonna figure out a position that feels good for you and doesn’t hurt at all.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, then continues, even more gently, “And even if we don’t, even if it somehow turns out totally impossible for us to ever have sex again, that’s okay too. I mean, sure, I’ll miss it, but it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Because you know, Hermann, the sexiest part of you is that brilliant mind of yours. That’s what I’m really in love with. And that’s not gonna change, okay?” Hermann still doesn’t say anything, so Newt sits up properly to look at his face. His right hand is still across his eyes, and Newt reaches out and tugs gently on his wrist. “C’mon, Herm, just say something.” 

Hermann lets him pull away the hand easily, and looks at him, his eyes slightly damp. “I love you, Newt,” he says quietly. “I really love you.” 

Newt’s heart contracts and then expands rapidly. “Oh. Yeah,” he says stupidly, overwhelmed, and then, “Love you too.” 

They look at each other for a moment, just looking without speaking, then Hermann clears his throat and says awkwardly, “I feel the same, you know. I, I also find you very attractive. And particularly your, um, mind.” 

“Oh yeah?” Newt says, lying down again. 

“Mm.”

“Go on.”

“Oh. Well. There’s, um, your hair, I like your hair a lot.”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed that.”

“Shut up, Newton, I didn’t interrupt your speech. I like your freckles too-“

“What, how can you like freckles?”

“I’m very fond of them! They’re, they’re cute! It’s like little constellations.”

“Oh. That’s nice, Herm. Wow. I like that. Constellations.”

“Told you to stop interrupting me. Okay. Hair. Freckles. Hm. Oh, your eyes, I really like your eyes. They always seem to change color depending on light, it’s very interesting. I’m never sure what color they actually are. And then, hm, you do have an extremely nice ass. Definitely the best ass of anyone I’ve ever dated. Easily the best ass. And you have nice legs too. And, well, I know you’re sensitive about your height, Newt, but I kind of like how tiny you are.”

“Shut up!”

“No, really! You’re cute. You’re really, really very cute, because you’re short and convenient and I think it’s the best height, really, I wouldn’t want to date someone taller.”

“Aw, shut up, Herm, _you’re_ cute.” 

“Look, I’ll take ‘attractive’ and all that, but I still object to ‘cute’. I’m not cute.” 

“You’re cute.” 

“Hmph.”

“…are you feeling better?”

Hermann shifts around a bit on the bed, so that he and Newt are face to face. “Yes, a bit. I’m…I am sorry.”

“No, Herm, don’t be-“

“No, I mean…” He sighs. “I’ve been feeling anxious about how this would work out, with my leg, but I didn’t say anything, and I should have. Then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I, I guess I was still a little worried you would be put off or something, so I didn’t want to say anything. I was just hoping it would work out. I, it’s stupid, but I just really wanted you to, um, to still think I was sexy.” 

“Course I do,” Newt says, tracing a finger across the edge of his face. 

“I should have talked to you,” Hermann repeats. 

“You should have,” Newt agrees. “But I’ll forgive you.”

Hermann manages a smile. “Better luck next time, hopefully.” 

“We’ll figure it out,” Newt says again.

“I certainly hope so; I would be rather upset to be deprived of sex with you.”

“Aw, Herm, you say the sweetest things.”

“But I’m glad that you, um, would…” he trails off, seemingly lost for words, then comes up with, “stick around.” 

“I’m not like, a total sex crazed maniac, you know. Sex is not make or break for me.”

“I know-“

“Besides, there’s definitely guaranteed to be stuff we can still do you, know, other than anal, like hand-jobs and blo-“

“ _Christ_! Stop!” 

“Oh, come on, Herm. You’re such a prude. And it’s weird. You say the filthiest stuff to me when we’re fucking but if we have clothes on it’s all, ‘Oh Newton, don’t say ‘sex,’ it’s so inappropriate, old chap.’”

“I hate you.” 

“You won’t be saying that when I give you an awesome blow-job tomorrow.”

“Jesus, Newton!”

“Okay, you will be saying that.” 

Hermann claps a hand against his mouth and starts laughing. Newt drags the hand away so he can see Hermann’s face when he laughs. The face he makes when he’s laughing is one of Newt’s main pleasures in life. He’s proud of himself every time he makes Hermann laugh. “You’re an idiot,” Hermann says. 

“ _Your_ idiot.”

“Mm. Yes. That’s true,” Hermann agrees, smiling. Newt kisses him. “Thank you for making this…not completely horrible,” Hermann says after. “I was perfectly miserable just a little while ago and you…Thank you.” 

“Oh, yeah, Herm, I’m glad to do so. I just like making you smile.” He drags the hand that is still on Hermann’s chest down to his hip bones until he can feel a slight raised mark where the long scar must be, and traces it delicately with his fingers. “Make you smile a lot tomorrow. I’m gonna figure out where this scar goes.” 

Hermann is watching with a careful expression. “There’s more scars on my legs, you know,” he says, in what Newt thinks is an experimental way, meant to gauge his reaction.

“I think I’ll have to kiss them,” Newt says solemnly. “All of them.” 

Hermann _hm_ ’s softly, then nods and says, “Well, if you insist.” 

“I do. I absolutely do. I insist.” 

“All right, then.” 

 

Newt does indeed manage to kiss every scar the next day. He decides the one on Hermann’s hip is his favorite. It gives him a nice excuse to touch his hips a lot. He kisses lots of other parts, too. He carefully runs his hands and mouth over every single bare inch of Hermann - and Hermann returns the favor - and he doesn’t make Hermann make that sound again. He only makes good sounds.

They don’t try anything too advanced, and really, it’s been long enough for both of them that what they do try is entirely satisfying. Or maybe, Newt thinks, it’s just satisfying because it’s Hermann. He makes Hermann laugh again, several times, and really, that is all he truly needs, is Hermann’s happiness and laughter and smiles and kisses. He was so stupid to ever think otherwise. He promises to not let himself forget this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wrote out the actual sex stuff only then! I'm terrible at it! I cannot do it!!! So no. You get cute ambiguous fluff instead.


	17. The Start of Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought I forgot about it didn't you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Paramore's Still Into You

December 26, 2014 - January 13, 2015. 

“Out of Order,” the sign, taped crookedly across the elevator door, says. 

“'Out of order?'” Hermann repeats disbelievingly. “How can it be out of order?”

“Shit,” Newt mumbles, standing next to him and holding both of their bags because he refused to let Hermann carry his. It was just _one_ fall on the ice, hardly worth considering, he’d come back to consciousness after only a few seconds. But now Newt’s treating Hermann like he’s made of glass, which Hermann absolutely loathes. But, on the other hand, there’s a huge ugly bruise spreading across his hip and it was sort of Newt’s fault that he fell, so he gave in on the whole bag thing.

He had not wanted to do the two hour drive north to spend Christmas with Newt’s father and uncle, for a whole list of reasons that he had mostly not told Newt. He refrained from mentioning that a two hour drive was bound to leave him stiff as all get out because he could tell Newt already knew that from the guilty look he got when he mentioned the distance, and he does hate when Newt fusses over him. He didn’t tell Newt that he doesn’t like Christmas anyway, because Newt seems to take that as a personal challenge. He didn’t say that he just knows that the two older Geiszlers don’t like him, and therefore he always feels he has to be his very nicest around them so that they might approve of him, and he didn’t mention that being on one’s very best behavior for three days straight, particularly when it’s for a holiday that one isn’t very fond of, is not especially enjoyable. And then there’s also the way that Geiszlers get so very cheerful and inevitably start playing the piano and singing and looking politely puzzled when Hermann declines to join in. Or the way they always try to get him to talk about his own family and he’d really prefer not to. ‘My mother is dead’ does not normally go down as well as it did with Newt and is probably not an appropriate conversation topic for Christmas. Or that he always feels like he’s waiting for the inevitable cutting remarks and shouting matches - but of course that’s only _his_ family that is like that, the side of Newt’s family that does not include Monica is entirely different - and that leaves him on edge.

Because of course, there’s being honest with your partner and then there’s telling them you don’t like being around their perfectly nice family for extended periods of time. So Hermann hadn't said anything when Newt first proposed it and had gone along for Newt’s sake. Then, of course, somehow the distance north was enough for it to be far icier and snowier there than that it is here, and Newt and his father and uncle were being so absurdly domestic and friendly and loving on Christmas morning that Hermann had felt rather suffocated and gone outside for some air. He’d just been leaning up against the house and watching the snow fall, trying to take in the peace of that; nothing athletic at all. He’s decided that he likes snow when he is able to watch it but does not have to actually go out into it. Then Newt had appeared out of bloody nowhere and made Hermann jump, and he’d managed to slip on the icy drive and fall hard enough to knock himself out. He came to almost immediately, but he had felt nauseous and dizzy and had apparently been mixing up his English and German, so Newt had insisted on taking him to the emergency room, which is not at all pleasant on Christmas Day and definitely a bit of a damper on the whole holiday. He was fine, as it turned out, not even concussed, which was even more annoying because it meant the trip was as unnecessary as he had told Newt it would be. He can see why that was unconvincing when he had thrown up (on the Geiszlers’ driveway, which was bound to help with making a good impression on them) a moment later, but still. 

He’s now more certain than ever that Newt’s father doesn’t like him. He kept making cheerful remarks like, “Nothing like a hospital visit to give you the Christmas spirit!” or, “Well, you’re lucky to have not messed that leg of yours up worse!” Hermann never thought he’d be glad that Newt takes after Monica, but at least he isn’t passive aggressive like his father apparently is. Hermann supposes that it was better than what he would have gotten out of his own father in the same situation, which would be direct complaints of how inconvenient it was, but Hermann had still kept wanting to say, ‘It’s not like I fell on _purpose_!’ Even he wasn’t that eager to get out of Christmas. But he reminded himself repeatedly that he wanted these people to like him, or at least tolerate him, and therefore he had forced a smile through his throbbing headache and agreed politely and apologized as Newt _fussed_ at him. 

Now, here they are, at last back at home, and Hermann’s head still kind of hurts and there is a monumental bruise on his hip and he’s aware that he’s lucky not to have hurt his leg, thank you very much, and he’d like very much to be in his own bed with a mug of tea as Newt kisses the bruises as he had promised to do.

And the goddamn elevator is out of order. 

Hermann grinds his teeth, but that only makes his headache worse. “Hermann-“ Newt starts to say in the tone of voice that usually means his next words will be ‘deep breaths’ or ‘calm down’, and Hermann _looks_ at him. For once in his life he has the good sense to shut up.

“I’ll go talk to the super,” he growls, and stomps off to the office at the back of the building. He can’t storm off as hard as he’d like because of his aching legs, and that simply makes him angrier. He hears Newt follow after a second, and he catches up by the time Hermann raps hard on the frosted glass of the office. “I got your flower, baby,” Newt says for some reason. 

The odious man calls out “Yeah, come in,” in his annoying, nasal voice. Hermann has never liked him anyway, and he’s in a mood right now to be irritated by everything. 

Hermann pushes the door open and sweeps in imperiously. Every now and then he can feel himself channeling his father. Every now and then he doesn’t mind. Lars Gottlieb is not a person to be fucked with, and sometimes that is a useful quality. “The elevator is broken,” he enunciates without bothering with a greeting. 

“I’m aware,” the super says, without looking up. “Use the stairs.”

He grits his teeth again regardless of his headache and presses, “And how long will it be broken?”

The man has the nerve to shrug. It’s good Newt is here. He probably won’t let Hermann hit this man. “The repair people said the earliest they can be here is a week.” 

“A _week_?” Newt squeaks disbelievingly, which is good because Hermann is temporarily too angry to speak. 

“That’s unacceptable,” Hermann growls when his voice comes back. 

He shrugs again. “Can’t do anything about it. You’ll just have to take the stairs.”

“Can’t do anything- You own the building! It’s your job to make sure it is working properly, which it currently isn’t! So do something!” 

“Look, buddy, I’m sorry it isn’t happening quickly enough for you, but it’s the holidays, that’s the way it is!” 

“That’s-“

“Look, I’m busy,” he interrupts. “Take the stairs.” 

Hermann isn’t entirely sure what’s going to come out of his mouth next - something rude, that’s for sure - but before he can, Newt says his name quietly and tugs on his arm, pulling him out of the room and shutting the door behind them. “Don’t say something you’ll regret to the person that can kick you out of your house,” he says softly, in German.

It’s really aggravating to be advised on tact by Newton Geiszler, of all people, even if it is good sense.

“A week, Newton! That is outrageous!” Hermann responds in the same language, acknowledging the discretion of that even as it irritates him. “The man is an idiot! He runs this place like, like- An idiot!” He looks at the stairs, which now always seem to loom over him. “I hate this awful building!” he hisses between his teeth. 

The stairs aren’t impossible. It was months and months after he got hurt before he could handle any stairs, and a few more months before he could take all four flights at his building, but he got there. He can climb the stairs. 

But it’s always harder than it should be, it leaves him more tired than really seems worth it, and often it’s somewhat painful. No doubt it will be even harder today due to his fall yesterday. He’s even gladder now that he let Newt carry both of their bags. 

And all the difficulties of going up the stairs pale in comparison to going _down_ them. There’s something about his particular type of injury that makes it so that when he attempts to go down stairs, his leg feels as if it’s about to give way at any second, and indeed that is a possibility. He has to cling to the railing the whole way down. Hermann finds the whole sensation incredibly unpleasant. 

He’d fought with himself, trying to force himself to get used to using the stairs. And then fought with Newt, indirectly. It had been one of many points brought up over the course of the vicious fight they’d had over the summer about Hermann and his health and certain possibly irrational attitudes he’d had towards his health. But eventually - and the fight had been a motivation - he had admitted it was stupid to force himself to do something so unpleasant and possibly dangerous when a safe and easy alternative like elevators existed. 

So now of course that alternative is being temporarily taken away from him because the universe is vast and random and sometimes beautiful and sometimes incredibly unfair. He’s sure that he can survive a week of having to use the stairs. But it’s going to be bloody well unpleasant, and…he’s probably going to need Newt’s help, if he has to do it every day. Dammit, he still _hates_ needing help. 

He scowls even more ferociously and takes a step toward the stairs. 

“Herm, why don’t we just go to my place? You can stay there till the elevator is fixed,” Newt says.

Hermann turns to look at him, astonished, then steps closer to him and kisses him on the cheek.

“What?” Newt says, self-consciously.

Hermann shakes his head. “That’s just such an obvious solution and it didn’t occur to me,” he admits. 

“I am a genius, you know,” Newt says with a grin. 

“Sometimes,” Hermann agrees.

“That’s harsh, dude, and when I just offered to let you stay with me, too. You’re so harsh.” 

“Oh, like me staying with you is such a burden or even out of the ordinary,” Hermann scoffs. 

Newt gets an odd expression on his face, almost nervous, and half turns away from Hermann. “It’s not a burden,” he says with a surprising amount of sincerity. Before Hermann can respond to this, he says more brightly, “Should I run up and get some clothes and stuff for you, since it’s gonna be a bit?”

“Oh, that would be a good idea,” Hermann agrees, and Newt drops the two small backpacks - containing only enough clothes for the two and a half days they spent with his family, and other necessities such as toothbrushes - and starts up the stairs, leaving Hermann puzzling over that little moment of oddness. 

Newt’s probably only gone a few minutes before he comes down the stairs again, a plastic bag of clothes and some other things in his hand. Hermann supposes he probably knows what Hermann wants and where it would be pretty well by now, and the thought makes him smile. He enjoys being known by someone more than he would have expected. 

“I can carry that,” he offers, reaching a hand out, but Newt puts it down on the ground instead, tosses the backpacks over his shoulder, and picks the bag up again. “Oh, come on, Newt, I’m _fine_ -“

“Let me be the manly man for once!” Newt exclaims, and flexes his arms at Hermann with a wink. “I can be macho.” 

Hermann rolls his eyes and mutters, “Oh good lord,” but acquiesces. 

As soon as they get to Newt’s place he makes a beeline to Newt’s bed, climbing under the layers of blanket with a contented sigh. Newt laughs and says, “What was that you were saying about being ‘fine’?” 

Hermann doesn’t bother arguing with this, just says, “Come here,” imperiously. Newt drops their bags on the floor and obediently gets in next to him, letting Hermann tug him closer until they are tangled together comfortably with Hermann’s face pressed to the material of Newt’s shirt and one of Newt’s warm hands gently resting on Hermann’s aching hip. 

He’s always so warm. He really is a tiny space-heater. Better, even, because space heaters aren’t freckled and don’t sprawl over you in bed. Hermann thinks these are excellent traits for a person to have. It all complements his own perpetual coldness perfectly. Over the summer, Newt kept demanding Hermann put his cool hands on his forehead. Over the winter, Hermann likes to curl up as close as possible to him in bed and not shiver, for once. It’s a wonderful arrangement. 

“How’s your head?”

“Been better.” 

“Sorry, dear.”

He smiles at that. Newt always sounds so whipped when he calls Hermann ‘dear,’ like in those old sitcoms when the husband would do something stupid and his wife would glare and he’d hang his head and say gloomily, “Sorry, dear.” Hermann rather likes it. And he simply likes the sound of it too, the way it sounds in Newt’s mouth, applied to Hermann, as if he really means it, as if Hermann really is dear to him. 

“It’s fine,” Hermann says, and they lapse into silence. Hermann is beginning to consider going to sleep, when Newt speaks again. 

“So, be honest,” he murmurs, his breath tickling against Hermann’s hair. “Worst Christmas ever?” 

Hermann smothers a laugh against his chest. “Not the worst. I mean, I’ve never nearly concussed myself on Christmas before, but still not the worst.” 

“That’s kind of sad, Herm. And sorry again.”

Hermann thinks that if one of your parents die when you are young, the Christmas after is probably bound to be the worst one of your life, but he thinks that’s a little dark for this conversation and keeps it to himself. “It was better than last year,” he offers, and then remembers _why_ last Christmas was so unpleasant and thinks regretfully that he probably should have kept that one to himself too. 

“Yeah,” Newt says after a pause. “Last year was pretty shitty.” 

Hermann is strangely pleased to hear that. Newt also had an unpleasant Christmas without him. And he’s pleased, too, that he doesn’t think vengefully that he _should_ have been miserable, as he might have a few months ago. They’ve gotten to a point of being able to talk composedly about their break-up. Neither enjoys it, Hermann thinks, but it no longer makes him feel angry at Newt all over again, and Newt has gotten very good about not apologizing about it - which is good, as him apologizing when Hermann isn’t mad usually succeeds at angering him. 

He decides he’s in the sort of mood to be complimented and murmurs, “Did you miss me?” 

“Mmhm. I sulked around my dad’s house all day and worried about you.”

“Worried?” Newt hadn’t known he was hurt then, so worried seems a curious choice.

Newt goes quiet for a few seconds. “The year before…it seemed like you were going to be all alone on Christmas. I didn’t like to think that you were gonna be alone again…Were you?”

He nods once. 

The quiet is longer this time, then Newt kisses his forehead and says firmly, “Never again, okay? I’ll never let you be alone on Christmas again.” 

Hermann inhales hard, warmth flooding the inside of him, bright and floating. Yes. Newt is such a very warm person. “I’m going to hold you to that, you know,” he says, turning his face to Newt. “And I…won’t let you be alone either.”

“I know,” he says, smiling, and Hermann pulls him a little closer still and kisses him. 

 

Spending the week entirely at Newt’s apartment is odd mostly in how not odd it is. It’s true that usually they switch randomly which place they spend more time at, and that Hermann periodically needs private space, or that one or the other of them will need to do something so that the other is left alone, so that they’ve never entirely spent this much time together. Still, instead of feeling odd or different, it’s more like an extension of what they normally do anyway. 

Really, it’s been a long time since either of them has voluntarily spent the night without the other. They seem to have mutually, without speaking it, agreed that neither likes sleeping alone. 

The main thing Hermann had worried about at the beginning of the week was his need to be alone once in a while, but Newt assiduously gives him space without him even having to ask. Instead, the thing that most bothers him is how messy Newt is, and honestly, that’s old news. Hermann relentlessly neatens up, Newt messes things up in a way that seems almost intentional - maybe he did pick up some of his father’s passive aggressiveness - and by the end of the week they seem to be starting to reach a balance of some sort. The convenience of being on the first floor and needing to only step into the next room over when he wants to see Newt definitely outweighs the annoyances. Staying at Newt’s place, he decides, is rather nice.

He says as much to Newt one day, over breakfast. It’s been seven days, the bruises from his fall are mostly gone, and he’s hoping the elevator will be fixed by now. They checked the day before yesterday, and it hadn’t been fixed then, but Hermann still has hope it’ll be working now.

“Yeah,” Newt says slowly. “I was thinking about that actually.”

“About what?” Hermann asks, pausing eating to look at Newt.

“Um. About it being _my_ place.”

“What do you mean?”

Newt fiddles with his coffee mug, spinning it in his hands, and a little splashes out onto the table. “Well. You know. You hate your place, right? And it’s kinda smaller, and the building is nasty, no offense. And with the stairs, it’s sorta inconvenient for you.” He focuses his gaze on the little dot of coffee and traces his index finger through it. “And, like, um, this week went pretty well, like you said. And we practically spend all our time together anyway. And, you know, since you still have two semesters left we’re gonna be in the area another year-ish at least. So, I was thinking about it being my place. Maybe it shouldn’t be anymore.” 

Hermann tries to put all this together, opens his mouth, closes it again, and then admits, “I have no idea what you are trying to say. Do you want a new apartment?”

“No, um, I mean, um…” He’s tracing a double helix on the table with the coffee. It’s quite complex now. His voice is dropping off as he speaks, so that he says more than that, but Hermann cannot hear it.

“You’re mumbling, Newton,” Hermann says, gently, as it must be important, from how agitated Newt clearly is. “And you’re making a mess.” 

Newt jumps out of his chair all at once. He strides halfway across the room as Hermann watches with a little frown. He does tend to pace when he’s excited, but Hermann really doesn’t know what’s got him so stirred up.

He stops there, and turns around. His face is red. “Okay, what I’m saying is, I think it should be our place instead of my place, like, you should move in, if you want, and what do you think?” 

He says this all very loud and fast, so that Hermann can hardly understand it at first. It takes him a moment to parse the words apart. And then another moment where they hardly make sense, and another moment where he wonders if he misheard.

“Herm, please say something. I mean, it’s okay to say no, but like, say something.”

It occurs to Hermann that he is sitting very still in his chair at the table and staring at Newt without moving. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” Newt echoes. 

“You…want me…” he swallows. “To move in?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You want to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, faintly. 

“Oh.” Hermann can feel his face suddenly overheat, and he looks down at the table. He finds himself feeling a lot of things all at once. It’s terribly confusing. “Okay.”

“What?” Newt says. Hermann stares at the drying pattern Newt had drawn on the table. He ought to clean it up before it dries. It might stain. But he doesn’t move. There’s one feeling in particular, that he can’t understand. He’s sure it’s important.

“I said okay,” he says more loudly. 

“Okay- Wait, really? J-just like that?”

That’s rather insulting. Had he thought Hermann was going to say no? 

“D-don’t feel like you have to say yes, it’s totally fine if you say no!” Newt says, his voice going squeaky. “I mean, it’d be great, I think, and you wouldn’t have to worry about stairs and, yeah, I really want to live with you, but it’s kinda sudden, we’ve only been together like eight months this time around, I totally get it if you say no, I won’t be mad or-“

That particular shining feeling swells up more when Newt says ‘I really want to live with you,’ so that it’s somewhat difficult to speak. 

“Newt, yes,” he manages. 

Newt is the one to say “Oh,” this time. “Yes? Really? You’re sure, dude?” Hermann hears him come closer, and he kneels down before Hermann and puts a hand on his knee, looking hopefully up into his face. “You’ve got a sort of panicky face there, Herm. You okay?”

That’s certainly not what it is that he’s feeling. He shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says. “And yes, I’m sure, I really mean it.” 

Newt smiles tentatively, and levers himself up to kiss Hermann softly on the lips. “That’s awesome, dude,” he says, and then again, a little uncertainly perhaps, "Awesome." 

 

The elevator still isn’t fixed - “Tomorrow for sure,” his super assures him, as he’d said last time Hermann asked, and Hermann takes marked satisfaction in informing him that he’s planning to move out at the end of this rent period, which is about a week and a half from then - so they once again spend the night at Newt’s apartment. Or perhaps he ought to starting calling it _their_ apartment. 

He finds himself smiling into his pillow like an utter idiot when he thinks things like that. That bright, brilliant feeling has stayed with him all day and well into the night, so that he doesn’t mind at all that tonight is shaping up to be one of those nights where he is totally incapable of falling asleep for no apparent reason. 

He thinks it’s happiness. He’s so terribly happy. He’s so very happy indeed that it feels like it’s taken several hours to dawn on him how extraordinarily pleased he is by Newt asking him to move in, so that at first he hardly knew what it was, and it sank in slowly all day and only now is he starting to feel the full extent of it. 

It’s not so much the concept of living together that’s making him feel like this. Although he is finding that he is liking that the more he thinks of it. No doubt Newt will drive him even crazier than he does now, and he’s really going to have to do something about the messiness of the place, but for the most part he thinks it’s going to go well.

(And, god, it’s really nice to consider something like this and not have his chest go so tight with anxiety that he can’t catch his breath. Half a year ago, no matter how pleased he was by the idea, it would have given him a good deal of anxiety. Now there are just a few little prickles to deal with that really seem like nothing after all he had to contend with the previous year. He knows, of course, in a resigned and irritated sort of way, that his anxiety is not gone, far from it, and most likely never will go away altogether, and is indeed something he has been dealing with in some way for years, but he’s come very far. He went to Newt’s family’s house and to the emergency room without a panic attack, and he hasn’t had a nightmare since August.)

But that isn’t the true source of his happiness. What really makes him happy is that _Newt_ asked. Newt was the one to come up with this idea, and say it, and mean it, and seem to really, honestly want it. Newton Geiszler, who once broke up with him because the commitment was terrifying him and he didn’t want to settle down yet, has asked Hermann to _live_ with him. He laughs softly, the sound muffled into his pillow. 

Newt had promised, when they first got together again, and a few times since, that he wasn’t going to bail this time and that he wasn’t afraid of the commitment. Hermann had believed him, really he had, but he’d still had that tiny bit of worry that sometimes wasn't so tiny. The little bits of anxiety that maybe Hermann was again the one more invested, and that he was also _too_ invested. Because he couldn’t help but think that he was in it for the long haul, that he wanted to be with Newt for a long while to come. Why else try so hard to make Newt’s parents like him? He’d never even met his partner’s parents in any of his previous relationships, and if he had, he probably would not have cared if they liked him or not, but with Newt it matters terribly. 

Hermann doesn’t want Newt to get scared again by the commitment, not when his apparent reaction to that was to run off, and that had hurt so much the first time. So he has been trying to trust Newt but at the same time not push anything on him. He’s been letting Newt set the pace in their relationship, and has tried not to commit any more than Newt did. When that had seemed impossible, he instead tried not to let it show how much he wanted this to last and be permanent. So it’s so incredibly wonderful to have Newt, entirely of his own accord, earnestly ask for this. And want this. Newt is the one that sincerely wanted this next step of commitment and asked for it. It makes Hermann feel like he can at last stop worrying that he wants Newt more than Newt wants him.

God. He feels so stupidly happy. He relives, again, the memory, the way that Newt said ‘our place’ and ‘it’d be great’ and ‘I really want to live with you’ and the way Hermann had said-

What had he said? He can’t really remember, as he’d been so startled and incomprehensibly happy, but…oh dear. He’d said, ‘yes.’ And that was all. Just ‘yes’ several times without any elaboration or explanation, and not even particularly enthusiastic sounding ‘yes’s. 

He had noticed that Newt seemed a little less enthusiastic afterward, but he hadn’t really thought much of it as he’d been so distracted by the happiness rising in him like the sun coming over the horizon at dawn, increasingly vast and bright. If anything, he’d supposed Newt was a little overcome by the enormity of what he was asking, but he hadn’t seemed doubtful or regretful so Hermann hadn’t spared it much thought. Now it occurs to him that perhaps Hermann’s own feelings had probably not come through in those vague ‘yes’s, and that Newt was possibly worrying that Hermann was only saying yes to please him and oh dear. 

That simply won’t do.

He turns over and sits up, having to push the sprawled mass of Newt off of him to do so. This does nothing to stir him. “Newt, wake up. Newt.” He’s such a damnably heavy sleeper. Hermann shakes his shoulder and says “ _Newton_ ,” loudly. 

“Hrmn, whasit,” Newt mumbles, and it’s not so dark in the room that Hermann can’t see that he does this without opening his eyes. 

“Wake up,” Hermann insists.

“Don’t want to, Herm,” he says, dragging out the last ‘m’. He opens his eyes up enough to direct an unimpressive glare at Hermann. 

“I need to tell you something and I’m not afraid to turn on the light,” Hermann threatens. 

Newt groans out an impassioned “Ugh,” and opens his eyes the rest of the way. He even makes a desultory attempt at sitting up that leaves him in an uncomfortable looking propped up position. “Why are you even awake?”

“I just am,” Hermann retorts. It ought to be old news to him by now that Hermann’s sleeping habits are odd even without the influences of anxiety and nightmares, and yet every time he’s still shocked by Hermann’s sleep schedule. When Hermann is being generous he supposes that it’s probably left over worry from that period last year when he was barely sleeping at all. He knows that he did look really awful then and that it worried Newt a great deal. The rest of the time he simply gets annoyed by Newt fussing at him. 

Newt rubs at his eyes and squints them in Hermann’s general direction. “Did you wake up or are you awake still?”

“It’s only about three in the morning, that’s not so unreasonable to still be awake-“

“Her _mann_ -“ 

“Anyway, that’s not the point!”

“What, pray tell, is the point? What is so urgent you woke me up at three in the morning?”

Hermann hesitates. It does suddenly seem rather over the top to have woken Newt up to tell him this. He probably could have waited till the morning. But then, Newt is already awake now, so… “It occurred to me,” he says carefully, “that my reaction this morning to you asking me to move in may not have accurately reflected my feelings.” 

Newt comes fully awake impressively quickly. He sits straight up and reaches without looking toward the small table on his side of the bed, hitting the switch for the small lamp there and then finding his glasses and fumbling them onto his face, presumably all so that he can clearly see Hermann’s face. The only thing he says is, “Yeah?”

Hermann’s been staring into the darkness for so long that even the light of the little lamp seems extraordinarily bright. He blinks hard, words sticking in his throat. “Well, I’m, you know…” He searches for the most accurate words and comes up simply with, “very happy.” 

“Oh?” Newt breathes.

“Yes. I do want to live with you, very much, and that you asked me to do so, that means a great deal to me. I, it’s not just that I love you, I also really want to stay with you, I’d-“ He stops here, because no matter how much more Newt seems to be committed now, it’s perhaps a little much to say out loud at twenty-five years old to the person that you have been seeing for less than a year that you think you’d be very happy staying with them for the rest of your life. Even if that really is how he feels and has felt for a while now. Hermann does not believe in silly, romantic concepts like ‘the one.’ But. If he did, then he’d probably say that he thinks that Newt is the one. But not out loud, of course, at least not yet. Even if he was one hundred percent certain that Newt would be comfortable with that - and he’s only about ten percent worried that he wouldn’t be - he’s not sure that he’s capable of speaking those words yet. So instead he says, stumbling over the words a little, “I really would, you know, like this to be a long-term relationship, and this - this makes it seem that you feel the same. And that really means such a lot to me, Newt, it makes me so very happy, I don’t think I can really say it properly-“ 

“I do feel the same,” Newt bursts out here, perhaps no longer able to hold himself in. Hermann was starting to lose coherency so he appreciates the interruption. “I mean, yeah, I do want this to be long term, and that’s why I asked you, and I’m also- That you said yes, I’m really happy, and I’m really relieved you feel the same, after everything, Hermann, you’ve no idea. You, god, you make me so fucking happy. I just really, I love you a lot and I don’t want to ever stop that.”

This is so extremely wonderful that Hermann thinks he is either going to cry or kiss Newt, and he still hates to cry, so he goes for the second option and kisses Newt very hard. Newt draws him close as if he’d like for there to be no space at all between them, possibly ever again. Hermann can’t say that he disagrees with that sentiment, but he stops himself from trying to take Newt’s shirt off because he did, after all, just wake him up only a few minutes ago.

Only then Newt says, “Dude, if you think I’m not going to fuck you blind _right now_ after all that then you must be out of your goddamned mind.” This is also extremely wonderful. Hermann is required to kiss him some more. “We’re even in my bed already, how convenient,” Newt murmurs when Hermann draws away for breath.

Hermann smiles in a way that he is sure must look entirely moronic. He cannot be bothered to care about that. “ _Our_ bed,” he says. 

Newt must find _that_ wonderful because he crushes his mouth against Hermann’s even harder. And then there’s not much speaking of the conversational kind after that, and much later that night Hermann is finally able to fall asleep, exhausted and even happier than he had been before. 

 

It doesn’t take as long as he would have expected to pack all of his things away. There’s about a day and a half of work, and then he’s standing in his living room looking at the handful of boxes that contain his life for the past three and a half years, sitting on top of an old couch and coffee table. The majority of it is books and clothes.

“That’s kinda sad but will make things easier,” Tendo, who they have recruited to help with the process - one short man and one man with a limp is not really enough to move some of the heavier things, such as the couch - remarks. 

“Huh, that’s just like you,” Newt says lightly. “Sad and easy.” 

“I wanna act insulted but that was a pretty good one,” Tendo says. “However, I’m pretty sure it’s more applicable to you, my friend.” 

Hermann rolls his eyes, picks up one of the boxes that he can carry with one hand, and leaves them to bicker in his now stripped living room. Or, well, not his now, or at least not for very long. 

They load up Newt’s car with Hermann’s boxes, and leave the furniture at the curb to be garbage or picked up by whoever wants it, having decided that exactly none of it is better than Newt’s. Hermann feels a little bad about the table. Herc gave him that when he’d only just started working at the café, merely because of some stray remark of Hermann’s about not having much furniture. It was a hand me down, but still, it was nice of him, and Hermann had been entirely taken aback by the kindness. It had seemed to come out of nowhere at the time, although looking back he realizes that it was about two weeks after he’d given Chuck that old Gundam video of his and Chuck had started talking again (and never stopped. Honestly. That boy could talk for hours). That was probably an influence. 

Newt, on the other hand, is frowning wistfully at the couch. “We had our first kiss here.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Hermann says, recalling it. That had been Christmas too, and a very good one indeed. 

“That was nice,” Newt says dreamily. “You were blushing so hard. And you were a lot better at kissing than I was expecting. I mean, you were really take charge, shoving me down on the couch, I liked it-“

“Wow, that is so much more information than I ever wanted to know about two of my best friends!” Tendo says loudly. “I’ve sat on that couch!” 

“And we’ve fucked on this couch!” Newt shouts, and Tendo shrieks and puts his hands over his ears, in much the same way a child would.

“Oh, really, Newton, must you!” Hermann complains. 

“Makes me kind of regret throwing the couch away,” Newt says, as if Hermann hadn’t said a thing. “I mean, we’ve had lots of good times with that couch.” 

“ _Burn it_ ,” Tendo says loudly. 

“Well, that won’t fix anything, dude, we’ve also fucked on my couch, and you’ve sat on there too,” Newt says. 

“Newton!” Hermann growls. 

“I’m gonna puke,” Tendo declares. 

“Anyway, yeah, this couch, there’s lots of nostalgia-“

“No, you’ve ruined the nostalgia,” Hermann says. “It’s gone forever. I hope you’re proud of yourself. The couch is trash now. Let’s go home.” 

“ _Our_ home,” Newt says, with a smile. Neither of them have quite gotten over saying that yet. 

“You guys disgust me,” Tendo interrupts.

“We don’t need you anymore, you can leave,” Newt says dismissively.

“Thank you for the help,” Hermann adds, because Newt, as always, seems hell-bent on being rude. 

“You’re welcome,” Tendo says, pointing at Hermann. Then he swivels his finger to Newt. “You aren’t.” 

“I don’t care,” Newt says brightly. “I’m gonna go fuck my boyfriend on our couch.” 

“Oh goddammit, Newton!” 

 

Unpacking ends up being harder than packing. Newt’s apartment - no, their apartment now - is such barely organized chaos that Hermann doesn’t really know where to put anything. He must end up organizing at least three-quarters of the apartment in an effort to find enough space for his own belongings. 

He takes all of Newt’s clothes out of his closet and dresser - and good lord, he has a lot of clothes, he must own ten pairs of black skinny jeans alone - just so that he can put them back in a way that leaves space for his own. And, yes, perhaps it wasn’t necessary to color code Newt’s clothes, but it did look so neat after he was done.

“You are like, compulsive, dude. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, but I feel that I should mention that OCD is an anxiety disorder.” 

He pretty much douses all of Newt’s bathroom in bleach. Although, to be honest, that’s just because he’s been wanting to do that for bloody well forever. The man’s bathroom is a horror. Eventually he gets it to a state of cleanliness that he will consent to putting his toothbrush in.

“And you’re obsessed with hygiene.” 

He uses the excuse of putting his books with Newt’s to finally alphabetize them all. And if he also sorts them by topic, it’s just because his were already sorted that way, so it’s simply easier. He stands back and appreciates finally being able to put his books on shelves (and also finally not having to shudder at the disarray of Newt’s books). He’d never had the time or money to buy his own shelves before. Newt’s are just shoddy plastic ones, probably from Ikea or something, but it’s certainly an improvement.

“I mean, you’ve gotta admit that that isn’t ordinary, Herm. People don’t just do this. What is this compulsion to organize things? Or is it an obsession? Or both?” 

Somehow, at the end of all this, there’s just a few bits of odds and ends of his left, things that don’t belong anywhere and yet shouldn’t necessarily be thrown out. They all fit neatly into one small shoebox. 

“You can just like, shove that under the bed,” Newt, who has been following him around but not helping at all throughout this whole process, tells him. He’s been sprawled on the couch for the last few hours watching Hermann organize the books, making fun of him, and contorting himself into increasingly ridiculous poses that Hermann suspects are meant to be seductive. Right now his legs are parted an amount that is really impressive considering how tight his jeans are. Hermann hadn’t particularly paid attention when he was caught up in organizing - he’s not OCD…probably. But putting things into a neat pattern does give him a sort of undeniable, interior satisfaction - but now that he’s almost done it is a bit distracting. 

But he decides to put the box away before investigating just how flexible Newt is in those pants. 

He drops it onto the floor next to the bed, and nudges it under with his left foot, or at least he tries to. Halfway under, it runs into an obstacle and refuses to move any further. Hermann eyes it balefully, and is darkly certain that of course, the space under Newt’s bed is going to be a chaotic nightmare. How did he not think of that before?

He should just leave it. He should put the box into a closet or on top of a cupboard or just push it under the bed in a different spot, and go back to Newt and his tight pants. The problem is, if he does that, he’s going to _know_ that there is a disordered mess under the bed. Under their bed. How can he _sleep_ right above that? Really, it’s unacceptable.

He reflects that perhaps he is a little bit compulsive. It’s not entirely easy for him to get down and lie on the floor, and it’s probably not going to be easy to get back up either, and yet he’s doing it for the sake of cleaning. Newt, much as he is loath to ever admit it, is probably right. It’s not normal. 

To his relief, most of what is under the bed is clothes. Some other junk too, but not anything horrific like food from ten months ago covered in possibly sentient mold, as he was fearing. There’s another pair of black skinny jeans, some worn out sneakers, mismatched socks, abandoned books, torn pieces of paper, a blue sweater-

He puts his hand on the sweater and realizes that he recognizes it. Newt would never wear it, it’s too big for him and not his style at all anyway. No, Hermann is certain it’s his. And he’s been missing it for ages, since before they broke up, he thinks. He’d noticed, because it was his warmest sweater and he’d really liked it despite Newt insisting that it was terrible, and so he’d missed it more than once.

When he tries to tug it from out under the bed, it feels oddly heavy, and then something rolls with a clunk out of the folds and out of sight half behind a shoe. He pulls the sweater out the rest of the way, then reaches in behind the shoe, his fingers finding a smooth, round shape and then snagging on a loop that helps him pull it out easily. 

He recognizes it as soon as it comes it into the light. It’s been a long time since he’s seen it. But of course he recognizes it.

“Newt!” he shouts, sitting up, not taking his eyes off of the object.

Newt appears a few seconds later, poking his head around the door. “Yeah- God, Herm, I just told you to put it away, did you have to organize under my bed too?”

Hermann holds up the mug wordlessly, so that the side with the axolotl is facing Newt. 

“Oh.” 

“It was under your _bed_ ,” Hermann says, and doesn’t realize he’s insulted until he hears it in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Newt says softly, and comes into the room the rest of the way. He holds a hand out to Hermann, and, after a pause, Hermann takes it and lets Newt pull him up. 

“Why was it under your bed?” he demands. 

Newt takes it from him, holding it gently. The colors are as bright as ever. He sits down on the bed, turning the mug in his hands to examine it. “I kinda forgot it was there,” he says. “I can’t believe I forgot.” 

Hermann supposes he forgot it too. It never occurred to him in all the past eight months to ask Newt where it was. But that still doesn’t answer his question. “Yes, but why was it there?”

“Uhhm. Well, you know. I mean, when we- When I broke up with you. I wanted to forget about you, at the time. And then, I wanted to get you back but you wouldn’t talk to me, and it started to seem to me like it was really over, so I thought I should get over you. So, obviously this makes me think of you- Of us. So, out of sight, out of mind, I guess, so I stuck it down there - with that sweater of yours, which I see you also found. And then I forgot.” He looks up at Hermann, frowning apologetically. “Are you mad?” 

Hermann considers. “Why…If you wanted to forget about me, why didn’t you throw it away?”

“I couldn’t do that!” Newt protests immediately. “I mean, this- I was so happy when you gave this to me! I spent all that time wondering if you liked me, and then you gave me this, and I knew you did…and there’s so many great things associated with this, you know, that stupid joke from before we even got together, and when you gave me this was the first time we kissed, and the first time I told you I loved you was at the aquarium with the axolotls…there’s no way I could ever throw this away! It’s way too precious!”

Hermann sits next to him. “So what you’re saying is that you never stopped being in love with me.”

“W-what?”

“That stuff wouldn’t have been precious if you weren’t in love with me,” Hermann says calmly. “So that you couldn’t throw it away…”

Newt runs his thumb over the lip of the mug. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “I guess that’s true.”

“I’m not mad,” Hermann says. “Just don’t put that out of sight or forget it again.”

“I won’t,” Newt promises. “I’ll never throw it away. But even I if I do…I mean, on accident, or something, I’d never do it on purpose, but if it happens…” He holds up his left wrist, the small axolotl tattoo peering out from beneath his now completed kaiju sleeve. “I’ve got this little guy, so I can’t ever really throw it away.” 

“It’s really stupid how many important things in our relationship are connected to axolotls, you know,” Hermann tells him, smiling at the tattoo. 

“Hey, dude, it’s your fault, you’re the one that said it.” 

“Well, I suppose I’m glad that I did,” Hermann says. He takes the mug out of Newt’s hands and puts it on the bed beside him, and then gently takes hold of Newt’s left wrist, stroking his thumb over the tattoo.

“Me too. That was one of the reasons we started properly talking, if you think about it. We just kinda were rude at each other before that.”

“You were ruder.”

“That’s debatable.”

“’You might want to consider your customer service-‘”

“You’re never gonna let that go.” 

Hermann shakes his head. “I won’t,” he says firmly, and brings Newt’s wrist up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the tattoo. “I’ll never let it go.” 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Newt says softly, eyes fixed on Hermann kissing his wrist. Then, in a more normal tone, he says, “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to be this clean all the time.”

“I certainly can’t live with the level of mess that you seem to like,” Hermann says, and resumes tracing the tattoo with his thumb. 

Newt considers this. “We could buy some duct tape and draw a line halfway through the apartment and we each get to be as messy or as neat as we want on our half,” he suggests, a twinkle in his eyes.

Hermann snorts. “The scary thing is that I can completely see us doing that.” 

“And you would get completely maniacal about it and anytime something of mine so much as touched the line you’d flip out and start shouting, ‘You know the rules, Newton! Every bloody day! It’s incessant!’ at me,” Newt says, giggling.

“I most certainly would not,” Hermann protests even though he’s fairly sure he would do exactly that. “Besides, I just know that you would mess up my side on purpose.” 

“Aw, but you’re so cute when you’re indignant, I wouldn’t be able to help myself.”

“I am not.”

“Dude, you’re always cute. I mean, you’ve been holding my hand for like five minutes now, that’s fucking adorable.” 

Hermann ‘hmph’s at him but doesn’t let go. “If you keep the living room in a state of not being completely destroyed and let me keep the bedroom relatively neat I think I’ll be okay. Also. I will go insane if the bathroom is the way you had it.”

Newt smiles ruefully and says, “And I’ve been keeping it clean for your sake.”

“Oh god, that was clean?” 

Newt bursts out laughing at that. “Your face, oh my god, you look so appalled.”

“I am appalled.”

“Okay, okay, the bathroom and bedroom, got it. What about the kitchen?”

Hermann shrugs. “You seem to have kept that satisfyingly clean of your own accord.”

“Yeah, dude, I eat there. That needs to be cleaned.”

“Oh, so you can live in filth, just not eat in it.”

“You’re adorable.” 

“So…that’s good then? For now at least?”

Newt nods. “Yeah, dude, I’m fine with that if you are.” 

“We’ll see,” Hermann says direly, and Newt laughs at him again, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. 

 

The next day, Newt comes home from school - which has restarted by now - and says, accompanied by the sound of a paper bag rustling, “I don’t know how I didn’t already own this stuff, but considering you cleaned every inch of this place without finding any, I must not have had them.” 

Hermann, who is sitting on the couch reading, looks up when he hears this to see Newt taking a hammer and small box of nails out of a shopping bag. “What’s that for?” 

Newt smiles mysteriously and winks, and vanishes into the bedroom. He emerges a little while holding the axolotl mug and advances toward Hermann holding these three objects.

“Oh dear, is this where you murder me?” Hermann asks conversationally. 

Newt snorts and climbs up onto the middle of the couch without answering. “Here, hold this,” he says, and hands the mug to Hermann. He takes one of the nails out of the box and hands the box to Hermann too. Then he holds it up against the wall, leans back a little - to see if it’s centered, Hermann supposes - and, apparently satisfied, starts to hammer it into the wall.

“What on Earth are you doing?”

“Just wait a second, babe.” He hammers a little longer until there is only about an inch or two of the nail sticking out of the wall, then holds his hand out and says, “Mug, please.” Hermann hands it to him again. He hangs it on the nail by its loop, and Hermann says “oh,” quietly. Newt flashes a smile at him and hops down off of the couch to admire his handiwork. 

“Mm, perfect.” 

“It’s a little to the left-“

“Oh shut _up_ ,” Newt says, rolling his eyes, and Hermann laughs. He stands up too, next to Newt, and joins him in admiring it. That stretch of wall had been mostly empty before. The mug, Hermann thinks, looks perfect there, with the axolotl facing out and smiling benevolently at the room. Hermann nods approvingly. Newt puts an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. “No way I can lose it or put it out of sight now,” he says smugly. 

“You know what’s odd?” Hermann muses. “I distinctly remember you, the day after I gave you this, saying something ridiculous about how you wanted to hang it on your walls like art. You weren't at all serious of course. And yet here we are now.”

“Oh yeah,” Newt says. “That- I remember that. The first day we were like, properly together. About two years ago now, Jesus. And there was something about like…a plaque. Declaring that ‘I fucked Hermann Gottlieb and he’s really romantic’ or something like that.” 

“I think I’d prefer if we left that part merely as an idle remark.” 

Newt sighs exaggeratedly. “If you insist…but I still think it’s worth bragging about. I mean, getting Hermann Gottlieb all to myself, that’s a pretty impressive thing.” 

“I quite agree,” Hermann says, straight-faced. 

“Modest too.” 

“Mm, just one of my many excellent traits.” 

“And there’s so darn many.” 

“You’ve got a few good ones yourself.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I'm very fond of you, you know.”

"Love you too, Herm."

"I said nothing about love, Newton, don't get ahead of yourself."

"Aw, c'mon. How can you be like that when that little guy is looking at us like that?"

Hermann considers the axolotl and fancies that he does look a little disapproving of Hermann's teasing. "Oh, all right, I do love you."

They stand together a little longer, smiling at the axolotl that has been with them for as long as their relationship. _What a stupid thing to have be significant in your relationship _, Hermann thinks again fondly.__

__“You know what I think?” Newt says softly._ _

__“Mm?”_ _

__“I think we’re gonna make lots more good memories associated with axolotls. Like, for years to come, I bet.”_ _

__Hermann had never known you could love a person this much._ _

__“I think so too.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing this chapter today and I very nearly started crying. I love this story so much, not because I think it's especially good or anything, but because of what it's brought into my life. This is easily the longest thing I've ever written. I think my writing has improved so much from it. I've made a lot of friends. I've received such lovely comments. People have drawn _gorgeous_ fanart inspired by it. And I think the thing that means the most to me is that people have told me that this story has actually _meant_ something to them. The thought that I've inspired people, cheered people up, encouraged people, and even provided support to people, through my silly little fic that I thought up to give me nerve one day when I was dealing with some anxiety-inducing stuff, means _so much_ to me and has given me the motivation to keep writing this, and keep writing in general! There were times where I thought, as long as I know at least one person is reading and enjoying this story, then I can keep writing it. So thank you so so so much for letting me write this story and for enjoying this story and for encouraging me. You have no idea what it's meant to me. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I think writing this has done wonders for my mental health. So, sincerely, thank you.
> 
> I'm going to say that this is the final chapter, but not the end. This story has been percolating in my head for about half a year (I began posting in October, but I've actually been writing since September), so I've come up with a lot for it. There are scenes that were supposed to be in this but didn't fit, there are little in the future and in the past stories about Newt and Hermann, there are side stories about the side characters (I didn't stick Yancy in there for nothing), and so on and on. And it's highly probable that I might write those at some point and post it in this series. So, if you're interested, keep an eye out. And I will obnoxiously self promo on my blog so you can see them there too. And I will definitely write more stories about these stupid nerds falling in love and having communication issues. 
> 
> And I just also wanted to say that
> 
> They all live happily ever after.


End file.
